


The Estrangement Thing

by NoBrandHero



Series: Things That Complicate Shit [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Angst, Graduate School, Humanstuck, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:25:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 59,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4235427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoBrandHero/pseuds/NoBrandHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can respect that your best friend is dating your bro (who is technically your father, but you're not acknowledging that part). Hell, it barely even affects you, given that you've moved to another state with your girlfriend to study for a doctorate in paleontology. Or it didn't used to affect you. Now Bro's acting weird and trying to be nice to you and you're pretty sure it's John's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Last time on The Ace Thing, I wrote a novella-length fic on a whim about Bro Strider wooing a sex-repulsed John Egbert and the shockingly celibate relationship that ensued. I also included a chapter where Dave moved out on bad terms with Bro and I got the unexpected audience reaction of, "Ye gads! This surprise Strider angst is unbearably painful! You're writing more, right?"
> 
> Well, okay, since y'all asked so nicely (and I finished my 200k-word project so I have more free time), here are the dysfunctional adventures of Dave and Bro Strider being terrible family and attempting to be less terrible family.

You never had any parents. Obviously there was the chick who carried you to term and abandoned you as soon as the umbilical cord was cut, but she's not your mom. You don't even know her name and you don't care. And there's the dude who passed his genetics down to you and fed you throughout your childhood, but he's not your dad. He's just your bro.

So you had what might be classified as "biological parents," but parents-parents? The store was fresh out of those. Had to settle for a big brother, on special discount to make up for the inconvenience. No returns, no exchanges though.

Not that you're complaining. Your bro is the biggest badass in Texas.

Wait, no. That doesn't sound impressive at all, considering how lame Texas is.

Your bro is just fucking badass, all right? He taught you everything, showed you how to be cool, got you started on your rap, trained you with swords, ignored you to help build your character, attacked you from behind in the middle of the night to keep you on your toes, never stayed in contact once you left for grad school...

He's awesome. The coolest. Never a bigger badass to ever live.

You don't miss him.

John mentions him often enough anyway, so it's not like you're completely out of the loop even if Bro's only messaged you once since you moved out over a year ago. You don't know how your outgoing, asexual dork of a best friend ever learned to get along with your bro, but what the hell. If they're happy and Bro isn't taking advantage of John, why should you care? Good for the odd couple.

You've got enough to devour on your own plate before you can worry about whether other people's plates have the right amount of greens on them. It took a few months, but you're mostly used to paying bills and cleaning up after yourself by now.

You're not sure if you're ever going to adjust to grad school though. Gen Eds are a thing of the past, thank god, but your courses have doubled in workload and quadrupled in quality expectations. You can't get away with writing papers the night before they're due anymore, not when your teachers are liberal with the red pen and you've got over fifteen pages to cover.

And just think, once you've got your master's next spring, you've still got another six years to go on your doctorate.

Thank god the work is awesome and you're fucking good at it. Even with summer break, thanks to the magic of internships, you don't actually get time off.

On dig site days, you gotta be up before the goddamn crack of dawn. You smack the alarm quiet at five AM. The snooze button is always tempting, but that's a luxury saved for days that you work on campus, when you're up three hours later and Terezi won't murder you for blaring the alarm over and over every five minutes.

She moans quietly as you sit up. "Jesus Christ, coolkid," she says, her voice hoarse. "How can you even open your eyes this early?"

"Well," you stretch your arms and fail to suppress a yawn, "I promise myself breakfast at the 24-hour Taco Bell." You slide out of bed and your feet hit soft carpet. "That helps."

"Okay, fair enough, but even delicious, terrible fast-food is not enough to drag me out from under these covers."

You slide your fingers over her warm sepia skin, tracing the dark freckles on her cheek. "You gonna be here when I get back?"

"Mm, but I can get so much done in the library..." she mumbles. She leans into your touch and peeks a barely-seeing eye at you. "Bring home dinner as incentive?"

"Deal. I'll nab the greasiest pizza I can find, covered in bright-colored veggies."

"No black olives."

You smile. "Only green."

"Yessss," she whispers, rolling into the blankets and claiming your side of the mattress as her own.

You reset the alarm for a far more respectable seven AM, the least you can do after you woke her, and resist the urge to watch her fall back asleep.

You have your morning routine down to an art. You've got clothes already lined up and you skip breakfast for the moment. A ten minute shower gives you ample time to blowdry your hair and style it, sweeping your bangs just-so.

You freeze in the midst of applying hairgel, staring hard into the mirror at a shimmering gleam on your head. You follow the reflection and pluck the offending strand off your scalp. You're disgusted by how long you've unknowingly allowed it to grow: a straight, silver strand at least two inches long that you never saw because blond hair makes great camouflage for gray. You flick it into the wastebasket where it fucking belongs.

That's over thirty gray hairs now. You're twenty-fucking-two-years-old and you just found gray hair number thirty-one hiding on your scalp. It's just as well that you don't know shit about your mom's side of the family, because you couldn't be civil to the person who passed the "going gray early" gene to you anyway.

You spend a little too much time checking the mirror for other gray hairs, just in case, before forcing yourself out of the bathroom.

You keep your wallet in yesterday's jeans, so your debit and ID are ready to go as soon as you're dressed. That's only bit you in the ass once so far, as you usually remember to empty your pockets on the weekly event that you switch pants. (You change your shirts daily, because you're not that kind of barbarian.)

You slide your shades on as the final touch and you're ready to run out the door. You're always turning the ignition by five-thirty at the latest. Today you're leaning towards "latest," but that doesn't mean you don't make time to pull over for shitty fast-food on the drive to work.

Taco Bell doesn't actually sell their breakfast food at five-thirty, as ridiculous as that sounds, so you're stuck with their normal menu. As if you can actually complain about Dorito tacos and Mountain Dew for breakfast. They're no Texan tacos, but they're Taco Bell tacos and that's plenty nostalgic enough in their own greasy way.

You're so used to driving one-handed by now that you've finished all but your drink by the time you turn into a parking spot, all the Dorito dust strategically licked off your fingertips already, saliva germs be damned. You wear gloves on-site anyway.

It's not a huge dig site, and no one's discovered anything groundbreaking yet (pun unintended yet welcomed), but it's still awesome by virtue of being the first time you witness ancientass bones uncovered straight from the ground. Too bad you don't actually do much of the work yourself. Some days your supervisors let you join in the fun of digging in the dirt when they're pretty sure a grid has nothing special for a newbie to break, but for the most part you're the Photo Guy who doubles as the official tool fetcher.

You never should have let slip that you've got experience with photography, or at least you should have only offered a portfolio full of your ironic selfies as example. They like having a guy with a decent eye -- not to mention a pricy lens -- documenting the site. That doesn't leave you much time to get your own hands dirty, when you're so busy snapping photos of other people's dirt-covered limbs.

At least they keep you running around enough that the hours never have the chance to grow sluggish. You wouldn't even remember to take breaks, except one of your professors gets on your ass about it after the time you almost came down with heatstroke. She's quick to prod you to rest and hydrate after three hours of steady work.

It's not even all that hot by Texan summer standards, yet you take shelter in the shade and down half a bottle of Gatorade in one go. Okay, maybe you need the break after all. You're used to a very not-Texan winter and your heat tolerance isn't what it used to be.

You pull off your gloves so you can take out your phone and lazily scroll through your Facebook feed, liking anything that catches your eye. Rose posted a photo of her cat, some kid from undergrad snagged a job, John's new profile pic features a cap and gown...

Oh, right, John just graduated. You should probably actually tell him a proper congratulations on that. Pesterchum sounds way better than Facebook anyway.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] at 9:36 --

TG: hey you done with those mad graduation celebrations of yours or is it continuing into the week  
GT: no, my dad left yesterday so now we're just crashing as celebration. it is our first morning alone as a newly school-free couple!  
GT: ps: it's like not even nine in the morning and you totally woke us up, douche.  
TG: ah yes i remember the days of sleeping in  
TG: now shits just like check it time to discover dead things in the ground  
TG: or watch other people discover dead things  
TG: i mostly just hold shit for them right now pass over a tool from time to time  
TG: noob grad student and all  
GT: that's why you're pestering me at ass o'clock in the morning?  
TG: yep on break so  
TG: bored now  
TG: i mean look at this boringass place

You hold up your phone and snap a selfie, making sure to get a good view of the dig site behind you. It's not your best photo, but you're kinda proud of the tan that's taken over your usually pasty white skin. You send it as an attachment to John without even bothering to add an ironic filter.

GT: pffff, don't pretend like you don't think it's tooootally worth it, i will know that you are lying. lying badly.  
TG: maybe  
GT: i showed that picture to dirk by the way.  
GT: he smiled.  
TG: hahahaha now youre just making shit up  
GT: nope. he is happy for you and thinks you are doing great.  
TG: wow how drunk is he  
TG: tell him to lay off the moonshine first thing in the morning it makes him fucking weird  
GT: :(  
TG: what  
GT: nothing.  
GT: man, i have not seen you irl in too long. it is probably illegal at this point. if it is not illegal, we should make it illegal.  
TG: illegal it is  
TG: ill run the new law by terezi when i get home  
GT: okay.  
GT: then i am going to come visit you before i am sent to jail for breaking the law.  
TG: aight  
GT: and i'm bringing dirk, if that is okay.  
TG: yeah its probably not safe to leave him at the apartment unsupervised  
TG: who knows what youd come home to  
GT: yeah, i don't want a fucking smuppet epidemic. DX  
TG: its all right dog youre safe you can bring your manchild boyfriend  
TG: if terezi thinks im inviting too many losers over ill just relocate you to a hilton  
TG: bro can afford that shit he could probably buy a house here for the week  
GT: man, he totally could. it scares me sometimes how much expensive shit he'll buy without even thinking about it.  
TG: your family aint exactly poor egbert how much did these stiller shades cost you again  
GT: i am not telling how much i spent on you!!  
GT: anyway, when should i book the plane tickets?  
TG: i aint the boss of you  
TG: but if you want most bang for your buck my workload gets relatively light in about six weeks so thats when youd see the most of me  
TG: i know thats the most important thing to you  
GT: absolutely, bro. i've got to get my dave fix. there just isn't enough douche in my life.  
TG: he says unironically while shacking up with the king of douches  
GT: dirk is a different kind of douche though.  
TG: fair enough  
TG: ok i gotta get back to work before someone decides to dig into the noob intern for spending too much time on his iphone  
GT: all right, i'll email you our itinerary once we've got one.  
TG: sweet deal  
TG: later

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] at 9:48 --

Well, that's happening. That's... cool, probably. It has been an unlawful amount of time since you last saw John, but you were both too busy with schoolwork to match schedules and trek halfway across the country, so that's nobody's fault.

You know what, fuck the rest of the details. If nothing else, it'll be kickass to see John again.

* * *

One of the first things you learned about college is that summer always flies by just to spite you. Grad school is no different, but you're still adjusting to July hitting you upside the head with no warning when last you checked you were pretty sure it was May. Home schooled culture shock is a bitch like that.

Why did you tell John to visit you right after work clears up anyway? You don't even have a week to laze around before John's texting you reminders of when his flight gets in. Yeah, yeah, as if you were gonna fuckin' forget and make them take a cab; thanks for the vote of confidence, though.

You arrive at the airport twenty minutes late, which is just as well because you're stuck waiting around for another forty minutes before the damn plane even lands. God, airlines suck. At least you had the foresight to charge your phone. You waste your time doodling stupid comics with an app you forgot you downloaded, glancing up only when a familiar voice calls, "Dave!"

John's hurrying past the security checkpoint and waving to you with a bigass grin on his face. Bro follows at a more leisurely pace, his expression as stoic and cool as ever, like the badass he is. They've been dating for something like four years but they still look weird as fuck together. Opposites attract, for real.

John reaches you first and practically tackles you in the effort to give you a one-armed hug. "Hi Dave!" He pulls back so you can exchange a quick fistbump. Any coolness gained by the fistbump is negated by the way he keeps smiling at you like an idiot. "Man, I don't think I realized how much I missed you until I saw those douchey shades again."

You chase off the urge to return the grin by quirking your lips into a smirk instead. "You don't have to lie, Egbert. I know you wake up to shade hankerings at four in the morning." You pat his shoulder. "It's okay, dude. That's pretty normal. Just admit you're gay for the shades."

He rolls his eyes. "You wish!"

You reinstate your best poker face as Bro finally bothers to catch up with the two of you -- not that you blame him for taking his time, seeing as airport reunions are obviously lame. You note that Bro doesn't have any grays in his perfect blond hair, unless the baseball cap is to hide that shame, though he feels a little older all the same.

"Hey, Bro." You raise your fist to him, the only greeting cool enough for a Strider.

He stops a couple of feet away and leaves you hanging.

Wait, what? He's only left you hanging in the past when he was mad at you. Holy shit, what can you have done when he hasn't even seen you in over a year? Did he find something stashed in your room that you forgot you even owned? Is he pissed that you never contacted _him,_ like a fucking hypocrite?

He steps in before your worries can get out of hand, but he reaches past your hand, grabs your arm, and... yanks you against his chest, wrapping his arms around your back to hold you there.

John says something, you're pretty sure, but you're still too startled to comprehend the words.

Bro is hugging you. Your asshole of a big bro is goddamn hugging you. You mimic the action on automatic, because that's what people are supposed to do when they get hugs, right? Hug back? That's what you do when John gives you a friendly embrace, but this is Bro and standard social protocols have no meaning where Bro is involved.

"Hey, li'l bro," is all he says before loosening his grip and continuing on towards the baggage claim as if nothing just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back where we left off. Time to write actual Strider interactions now. I'm nervous. :D I've had most of this chapter ready for a while, but I figure with the latest upd8s, this is a pretty topical story and I should post it already.
> 
> I pretty much made up the dig site etiquette based on what little I've seen of local fossil beds, so, uh, sorry if anything's hilariously inaccurate. I'd be less lazy about that if this was original fiction, but there's only so much research on minor details that I'm willing to do for a fanfic.


	2. Chapter 2

You don't get an explanation for the hug. It's a non-issue faster than a flashstep. John's already telling you all about their flight and how the stewardess tried to murder him with peanuts, leaving you no room to backpedal the conversation to the subject of Bro's unconventional greeting.

Bro's acting normal again anyway. He keeps his distance, speaks without emphasis, and holds such a steady poker face that he might as well be a statue. As per usual, nothing about the guy screams "hugger." It's just another case where Bro's expert execution of irony remains too elusive for your inexperienced ass to grasp.

All the same, when John isn't monopolizing your attention, you keep your gaze locked on Bro all the way to baggage claim and then to the car. He can't even tell that your eyes are boring into him, 'cos that's the sweet thing about shades. (The not-so-sweet thing about shades is that he also wears a pair so you don't know if he's spying right back at you or not.)

The only behavior that stands out is when he pulls a jacket out of his bag before tossing the rest of the luggage into the backseat. It's not often he bothers with outerwear.

John snorts and presses a hand over his mouth to muffle laughter. "Dude, it's like seventy-five degrees!"

"And it was over ninety degrees at lift-off." Bro yanks on the jacket and claims shotgun. "What's your damn point?"

You keep your mouth shut, but it is nice as shit out. You couldn't ask for a better summer day. Are your Texan roots fully transplanted into the East Coast soil already? You just can't believe that Bro's more uncomfortable about _anything_ than you are. First physical affection, now physical discomfort? It's like he's actually human or something.

You mean, of course he's human. You only thought he was a robot for like a year. You were six. Shut up.

You wonder if he notices your short sleeves as you take the wheel, or if he gives a shit that you can endure more cold than he apparently can.

John leans over the back of Bro's seat to keep up the conversation instead of buckling up like a sane person, which you don't really mind because at least it means you have a buffer between you and Bro.

You're less thrilled to be that close when John plants one on Bro. Bro's stoic demeanor doesn't even drop for a second, but s'just... not right to watch your best bro kiss your actual bro. Or nuzzle him afterwards. Goddammit, John, stop being mushy to the coolest dude in Texas.

Longest car ride ever, you swear to god.

Your apartment has never felt cramped before, but as you lead two guests through the front door, you really wish you and Terezi had splurged on a two-bedroom apartment. You're going to miss your living room having privacy.

"Jesus, this place is organized," Bro says as you show off the place.

You shrug. "That's kinda what happens when you share living space with someone who's legally blind. Shit stays off the floor, crap always goes back where it belongs." You pat the back of the couch and wave at its surroundings, from the coffee table to the pile of blankets you laid nearby, plus the TV and Xbox. "These are your accomodations. The couch folds out and shit." You lift one of the cushions to show it off. "Very fancy, I know, but only the best for the guests of Casa de Strider y Pyrope."

John drops his suitcase and flops onto the couch, gazing around your abode while grinning like an idiot. "Holy shit, Dave, it's like you're an actual responsible adult!"

Before you can defend your honor as a slobby grad student, Terezi yells from the bedroom, "I hear a giant dweeb!" She wanders out with a textbook still in hand. She doesn't even have summer homework; she just loves poring her fingertips over her law books that much. "Hey, Egbert!" she says with her signature maniacal grin. "I actually missed having you around!"

"Dude, that's no way to welcome our guests. You're supposed to at least introduce yourself before you call them names." You wrap an arm around her shoulders. "Yo, guys, this is my rudeass girlfriend."

"Terezi Pyrope, for the party who isn't already in the know." She pulls her glasses down to examine what little she can see of Bro, which is mostly a blob of colors from what she's described to you in the past. "You must be Dave's bro." She chuckles. "You have the same tapioca skin as Dave before he's played in the sun too much."

You nudge her. "T'z, don't describe people like food." She could've chosen a less gross-sounding word than "tapioca" to describe your paleass skin anyway. "Tumblr's gonna crucify you for talking like that."

She laughs and pokes at your face, readjusting her aim until she hits the tip of your nose. "It's okay, coolkid. It's only bad when white people do it."

"Y'sure about that?" you say, keeping your poker face strong in the midst of her prodding. "You're half-white and all, so I don't want you waking up to thousands of anons telling you to kill yourself."

Ever the critic of your Internet expertise, John blows a raspberry. "Man, I'm not really sure the whitest white guy to ever white has much room to talk about racial sensitivities, Strider."

You clutch at your chest and cringe. "My cishet white boy feelings are so hurt."

Terezi bumps her shoulder against yours. "Well, you should obviously stop being those horrible things, tout suite."

"Sure." You release her and saunter towards Bro. "Hey Bro, how do I turn gay?"

"Wait, no!" She catches your arm and yanks you back. "Don't you dare!"

John laughs and Bro raises an eyebrow over his shades. You half-expect Bro to play along for shits and giggles, have a good ironic joke together Strider-style, but instead he says, "You're half Jewish, you know."

You could swear you hear a record scratch in your head. You pause so suddenly that Terezi almost succeeds in toppling you to the floor. You're what? "I'm what?"

"Uh..." John furrows his brow. "Does Jewish even count as a racial thing or is it like its own separate category?"

"How would I fucking know?" Bro says, ignoring you for John. "I'm a racially ignorant Scandinavian."

What? Did you miss the memo that this is National Mess with Dave Day or something? Seriously, you're not any kind of religious. You'd _know_ if you were, right? "Hey, back the fuck up. In fact, turn the car around altogether. Pull a U-turn and get back in that goddamn parking spot 'cos we ain't done shopping yet and there's still time left on the meter." You stop for breath after forgetting to pause between sentences. "Since when am I fucking Jewish?"

Bro shrugs. "Probably since you came out of a vagina that happened to belong to a Jewish girl."

You don't say anything, because if you open your mouth, you're pretty sure you'll scream. Why, why, whyyy the _fuck_ did he have to put that imagery in your head? The first time he's ever brought up your mother and of course he describes her _twat_.

"Ewwww," John says in your stead. Thanks for coming through, Mr. Asexual Prude. You're so buying him a soda tomorrow. "Dude, do we gotta talk details about genitals?"

"You call that detailed?" Bro says flatly. "I haven't even mentioned how she had a freckle on her-"

" _No!_ " John just about squeaks like a goddamn mouse as he smacks a hand over Bro's mouth to muffle his voice. "Oh my god, you're a jackass!"

Terezi bursts out laughing and elbows you. "I like him," she says as Bro flashsteps out of John's reach.

You elbow her back. "Told you he was cool."

John gives chase, tackling Bro in a rough hug when Bro allows himself to get caught. You're still not sure what the hell to make of any of this, but you gotta at least give Bro some credit for already earning himself the Pyrope Seal of Approval.

* * *

You're still reeling when your head hits the pillow that night. You stare at the shadows on the ceiling instead of closing your eyes, just listening to Terezi kick at the sheets and breathe.

You have no idea what kind of game Bro is playing with you right now, but if this is what shit's like just on day one, you don't know how your brain isn't going to leak out of your ears by the end of the week.

This was only supposed to be a chill reunion with John. What the hell is going on with all these weirdass epiphanies with your brother? Why's he dumping it on you _now?_ Visiting you in the first place, hugging you, talking about your family history for the first time in ever... You never knew shit about your mom and you knew better than to ask.

"Terezi. Hey, Terezi." You bump her shoulder. "T'z, listen, do you think it means anything that I've secretly been part Jewish this whole time?"

She moans, hugging her pillow closer. "Dave, your question doesn't even make sense," she says, her voice quiet and hoarse. "Also, we are trying to sleep."

"Okay," you say, "but I grew up assuming I was just white and I sort of don't know jackshit about Jewish culture or beliefs or thingamabobs, so I'm not sure it even counts for me regardless of my mom's heritage."

"I know, right?" she says in the midst of a yawn. "You're obnoxious in that special way that only white boys can manage."

"But on the other hand, what if this answers all those tiny weird details that keep nagging at my subconscious? Like..." You furrow your brow. "Like, is this why I get flamed way less when I crack bad Jewish jokes online compared to all the other offensive shit I post? Because people can tell I'm poking fun at my own group? Hell, is this why I'm circumcised?"

"Oy gevalt!" She slaps a hand to her forehead. "Lots of non-Jewish boys get circumcised, idiot. My brother did just 'cos the nurse asked Mom about it when she was too woozy from giving birth to question it. It's kind of a weird cultural thing at this point." She motions vaguely at the ceiling and deepens her voice. "Like, hey, you got a baby with a dong! Would you like us to skin it?"

"I don't think Bro's circumcised though." You clear your throat as you realize what you just implied. "Not that I tried to pay that much attention to my bro's dick or anything. When you live with a pornographer for twenty years, sometimes you're witness to shit." You glance at her, even though you can barely see a damn thing. "Still, it's kinda weird that we don't have that in common, right?"

She rolls on top of you, resting her chin on your chest. "Dave Strider, are you getting self-conscious about your weiner?"

"No!"

"Good," she says, slipping her hands into your boxers and rubbing your thighs, "because I like your weiner, even if it is missing its slip."

You shiver. "Dude, what're you doing? Bro's right in the other room."

"So? You're not letting me sleep." She nudges your boxers down and traces her fingers back up your legs. "I might as well get somethin' out of this."

You feel heat travel to your face and... maybe elsewhere. "I'm having an identity crisis and you want to traumatize our guests with your noisy sex sounds?"

She sighs, rolling her head back. "Dave, if you want to embrace your maternal heritage, we'll go track down a synagogue sometime so you can talk it through with a rabbi." She pulls her shirt off and tosses it aside. Why are the lights off again? "If it just makes you uncomfortable, then we can pretend your bro never said a word. Otherwise, you're just a half-Jewish white kid who doesn't participate in your heritage's culture or religion, just like a bunch of other people." She leans in to kiss you softly. "Simple as that."

It's _not_ that simple. You're a grownass white atheist and you aren't questioning that. You already did your soul searching and settled comfortably into an identity that suits you fine, yet now you're getting slapped upside the head with new information. This is the sorta shit you're supposed to grow up with. Why did Bro finally throw it at you when you're in your _twenties?_

Maybe you can just put off thinking about it for another twenty-two years. "Okay," you say once she's taken her lips off yours, "but none of that changes that Bro and John are gonna hear us."

She slides a hand over your mouth, grinning wickedly. "We'll improvise."


	3. Chapter 3

How the hell did you end up alone with your bro on a bus to campus? How? Why?

No, you know how. John and his stupid prankster face is how.

"I'm feeling kinda under the weather, Dave!" Gee, that's shame, John. "You should just go out without me. You can show Dirk your university!" That's a jackass move right there, John.

Since Bro actually likes John (as much as you have trouble wrapping around your mind around that, you have to accept that somewhere in your Bro's icy interior is something resembling fondness for John), he accepted John's suggestion without a fuss. Now you're stuck sharing a bus ride and pretending your knees aren't touching because the seats aren't fucking wide enough for grown adults.

Bro's snagged the window seat so he can study the town you presently call home as you drive through it, his arms crossed and his mouth a thin line. He hasn't said a word since you left the apartment.

Oh god, you hate silence, you can't do silence, you have to break it.

Quick, what's a conversation topic that will make the silence go away? "What was with yesterday?" God dammit, not that one.

"I'm not aware of anything being with yesterday," he says without even looking at you.

You almost scoff. "Man, are you kidding? So much was with yesterday that I can't even be assed to list it all, but, y'know, just off the top of my head..." The hug. The hug. Holy shit, the hug. You should ask about the hug already. "You dropped the bomb that I've got a non-generic family heritage." Fucking coward. "Dropped it like an ace pilot in enemy territory." You clear your throat. "By 'ace,' I mean deadly pilot, not asexual pilot. If John wants to join you in bomb dropping sometime, he can lay claim to the alternate meaning."

"You're still hung up over being Jewish?" Bro adjusts in his seat so he's actually facing you. "If it'll get your panties out of a wad, your mom was pretty nominal." He shrugs. "Or, well, she claimed to be, and then freaked out if there was a loaf of bread in the house during Passover, so your mileage may vary on the definition of 'nominal,' I guess."

"Dude!" you say louder than you ought to. "Don't board your aircraft again in too much of a hurry there."

He cocks his head. "The fuck are you on about? You seriously think this is a big deal?"

You press your lips together, trying to recover your train of thought before you say anything too lame. "You never talk about Mom."

"She's not usually relevant to the conversation. So what?"

So... so... so you don't fucking know; it's just weird.

You're spared bullshitting your way through an answer as the bus announces your destination. You nudge Bro with the back of your hand to catch his attention as you get to your feet, only tripping a little when the bus jolts to a halt.

You hop off the bus and onto the sidewalk that leads straight into the heart of campus. Brick academic buildings spread in all directions amidst expansive lawns sprinkled with ancient statues of old white men.

This is the least cool, least ironic location you could probably find in the whole fucking state. And you brought Bro here.

"This is where you've been studying, huh?" he says, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Yup." It would take less than an hour to show someone around the place, but you've never been so reluctant to partake in a simple chore in your life. Hell, Bro probably feels similar. "So, you come here 'cos of John's suggestion?"

He's quiet a moment. "Yeah."

You relax with a sigh. "Okay, cool. Now that that's out in the open and we don't gotta pretend anymore, there's a bar a block down that way." You wave to the east. "I'll chill at the library a few hours," you jerk your thumb towards one of the nearby buildings, "pick you up on the way home, tell the others we had a sweet tour together."

It's the perfect plan, except Bro doesn't move. "Just because it was John's idea doesn't mean I'm doing it involuntarily," he says.

"What, you actually want to hang out on campus?" you ask, pausing before you can get even one step away.

"Not really."

You frown. "But you don't want to chill in a bar."

He takes so long to respond that you almost think he's not gonna bother. "What's the damn point of being here if we aren't even gonna be in the same building?" he says. The standard hardness from his voice is gone, but you can't say what's replaced it.

Did he just imply he wants to spend actual honest-to-god time with you? There's gotta be a catch to this, right? Maybe he's just that bored, or maybe he's experimenting with a new brand of irony.

You can't remember the last time Bro spoke that softly to you.

You take a deep breath. "There's an okay coffee shop half a mile from here." You hesitate, then wave for him to follow you. "I'm kinda biased 'cos it's where I keep my sanity when I'm cramming for a test, but whatever. It's still a pretty dope way to pass the time in a town this lame."

* * *

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] at 14:17 --

TT: This isn't going well.  
GT: what's up?  
TT: Dave thinks you set this up, for one.  
GT: well, i kinda did.  
TT: Yeah, but that doesn't exactly make me look good here.  
TT: He's not giving me much to work with either.  
GT: what are you doing?  
TT: First he tried to split and abandon me at a bar.  
TT: I told him to fuck that noise, so now we're just in one of the dinky college coffee shops, doing our own shit.  
GT: wait.  
GT: are you ignoring him for your phone????  
TT: He's on his phone too.  
GT: DIRK.  
TT: All-caps, huh? Am I sleeping on the couch tonight?  
GT: we already sleep on a couch, douchefuck!  
GT: get off your damn phone and strike up a conversation that makes him put his phone down too!  
GT: act like human beings, dammit!  
TT: What, and talk about the weather?  
GT: why the fuck not? better than ignoring each other!  
TT: You and I have very different definitions of "better."  
GT: man, why are you even visiting him if you're just going to sit in awkward silence together?  
GT: do you want to reconnect and be a proper family or not?  
TT: I don't know.  
GT: bullshit!!!  
TT: Striders don't do the dumb family crap, John.  
TT: We never have.  
TT: That's why shit is awkward, 'cos it isn't natural to us and probably never will be, so what's the point?  
GT: the point is that you miss him. :(  
TT: Okay, can we not, with the admitting we have feelings and shit?  
GT: i will all-caps on you again, dirk. don't test me.  
TT: Ugh.  
TT: Fine, I miss him. Now what?  
GT: tell him that.  
TT: No.  
GT: auuugh, how do you expect to get anywhere with him if you keep hiding behind your coolness barrier the whole time instead of opening up to him, dipshit??  
GT: because those are your options, dude!  
GT: be a stoic jerk or talk to him about your emotions! take a wild guess which one will help if you want to actually bond with him!  
TT: Fuck.  
TT: So how do I... do that.  
GT: "hey dave, i'm sorry i've been crap at contacting you, but i missed you a lot and love you" is probably an ok opening.  
TT: That sounds so lame.  
GT: love means being lame sometimes, i guess.  
GT: you're lame for me, aren't you? <3  
TT: I'm always cool. I just let myself be slightly less cool for you. On rare occasions.  
GT: well, try doing the same thing for dave.  
GT: now start talking to him instead of wasting your time on pesterchum before i block you, stupid.  
TT: John, wait.  
TT: What if I fuck this up?  
GT: frankly, i think you're starting at rock bottom. you can only go up from here.  
TT: Great.  
GT: have fun, dude. love you.  
TT: ...  
TT: Love you too, John.

\-- ghostyTrickster [GT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 14:33 --

* * *

You ironically love the shit out of dinky coffee shops. You don't have many opportunities to stretch your coolkid muscles anymore, what with spending most of your time in an institution of learning, but nothing is more ironic than partaking in the mandatory university pastime of overpaying for mediocre lattes at the campus coffee shop while you pretend to study.

Cappuccino Town is about as homegrown as a business gets. The coffee is actually half-decent, they perpetually run a canned foods drive, and one of their regulars is a cranky cop who keeps the shop from getting rowdy on game days. It's owned by this mute black guy, who apparently used to be mayor years ago, and he's awesome. You couldn't find a friendlier dude if you scoured all of Disneyland, while his wife is like his polar opposite: not only is she albino to contrast with his pitch black skin, she's intimidating as fuck. Her day job is in the postal service though, so you mostly don't encounter her defensive stare across the counter except on Sundays.

It's a legit nice place, even before you add in the irony points. Hell, you're bros with one of the underlings who works here. That's so cool that it's lame that it loops back around to cool. You are basking in these university tropes and playing it so straight that they're subverted.

It's pretty quiet over summer break, with most of the undergrads out of your hair. Bro follows Shitty Coffee Shop Etiquette without prompting: order something that ends in "latte" and pull out an electronic as soon as you're seated. It's a little surprising that he knows the ropes when he never finished high school, let alone went to college, but he is pretty well-read. Hell, maybe he just picked it up by cool dude instinct.

Mutual phone browsing is the first time you've relaxed all damn day. You're good at ignoring people for Tumblr. Ha, your troll post calling "translation" a problematic word for including "trans" in it has reached ten thousand notes. Some dumbasses are still signal boosting it as legit despite all the debunks.

"So." Bro's voice interrupts your comment scouring.

You glance up. He's lowered his phone and is presumably staring at you through his shades. "So?" you repeat.

There's a long silence filled only by the radio and punctuated by the hiss of cappuccino machines. "This is some weirdass weather," Bro finally says.

You shrug. "You get used to it."

"I'll add it to the list of crap I need to catch up on, right up there with the new season of Keeping Up with the Kardashians."

You snort and gaze out the window. One of your friends is walking past just outside, but you're too cool to respond when he waves to you. "Man, that show is shit." You take a swig of coffee.

"You know it." Bro raises his own cup as if to toast with you. Instead of drinking it, he frowns. "Hey... I got to thinking about weird shit lately, which ain't unusual, but I guess it got weirder than standard irony," he says with an odd tone that almost breaks his monotone. You'd dissect it more if you weren't distracted by the asshole marching into the coffee shop and right towards your table. "The thing is, I'm kinda starting to come to the conclusion that I should've contacted-"

Karkat grabs the back of an empty chair, yanks it out from under your table, and leans on its back. "God fucking save us all, there's two of them!"

Bro pauses mid-word, his facade otherwise unbroken as he turns his head just the slightest to glance in the intruder's direction.

You give Karkat a thumbs up. "Almost perfect introduction, dude. Nine-point-eight out of ten. Never will you give anyone a more accurate first impression than that gloriously rude greeting, except maybe if you raised the volume a touch." You squint and hold your index finger and your thumb an inch apart.

"This the local lunatic?" Bro says flatly.

"Nah, just my local best friend." You hold your hand towards Karkat for a fistbump. "Gotta have one of those on top of my long-distance best friend."

Karkat snorts and ignores your offered fist 'cos he's a killjoy who hates fun. "And if that dork Egbert ever moves closer, obviously we'll fight to the bloody death for title of official best friend." He kicks the chair's leg so he can spin it around and sit on it backwards as he joins your table. "Who the fuck is this blond douchebag and how is he related to you?" he says, jerking his head towards Bro.

"That's my brother and, despite what you'd believe from his expertly indifferent demeanor, he can hear you."

Karkat's eyes bulge as he gawks at Bro. "Wait, _you're_ the cradle robbing pervert?"

Bro cocks his head. "Why so formal? My friends just know me as the puppet fucker."

"Excuse my fucking manners then." Karkat holds his hand out. "Karkat Vantas, coffee mook and college drop-out."

"Dirk Strider, Internet pornographer and high school drop-out." Bro claps his hand against Karkat's without actually bothering with a proper shake.

Karkat keeps his mouth shut for once in his life as he stares intensely at Bro for a good ten seconds. "This explains absolutely _everything_ about Dave except how he passes his fucking tests, if _you're_ seriously the asshole who raised him."

"I am seriously the asshole who played the role of household adult while Dave was growing up," Bro says without inflection.

You lounge back. "Yeah, he taught me all there is to know on the art of irony."

"Great, now I know who to blame for your piss taste," Karkat says with a snort. "Well, this has been an eye-opening horrorshow, but I'm on the clock in thirty seconds." He climbs out of his chair and pushes it back under the table. "You assholes enjoy invading my workplace with your terrible eyewear."

You hold your mostly empty cup out to him. "Refill."

He shoots you a well-deserved glare as he shoves your head. "I said I have thirty seconds of freedom left!"

"Twenty," you say, refusing to move even to protect your hairdo.

"Fuck you!" he calls over his shoulder as he storms off to the backroom to don his barista-mandatory apron.

Karkat's really lucky that the ex-mayor is such a great guy who doesn't mind that his employee has a mouth like an HBO original series. He just gives Karkat a disapproving shake of the head and leaves it at that.

"So that's your John replacement," Bro says once Karkat's out of earshot.

"Dude, 'replacement' sounds demeaning, like I'm just settling for Vantas or something," you say, downing the dregs of your coffee as you debate whether to actually bother with a refill or not. You kinda just want an excuse to fuck around with Karkat a little longer, more than anything.

Bro leans back with a shrug. "Don't fret so hard on the semantics when it's blatantly inaccurate to begin with. John's a rude little shit too, but not quite of that guy's variety."

"You saying you disapprove of my choice of friends?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Nah, they're just jerks. Jerks are cool," Bro says with a slight nod. "You know where you stand with them."

You don't know where you stand with Bro at all, actually, but you don't say anything. Instead you focus your attention on fixing your hair after Karkat mussed it up, swiping your fingers through it to slick it back into place.

Bro's mouth twitches. "Hold still."

You freeze as he reaches over the table towards you. "Uh..." is all you say before he's slipped his fingers into your hair. He plucks out a strand and you wince, but you forget the pain the instant you see what he's holding between his thumb and forefinger: he's found one of your gray hairs. Thank fuck your shades hide how wide your eyes just went. "Oh my god." Where's the nearest deep, dark hole? You are going to crawl in it and _die_.

"Jesus, that's premature," he says, flicking it away as if it's not evidence worthy of _burning_. "That better not be from the stresses of grad school or I am hella unimpressed with your department's work ethics."

"I've never had one before," you blurt in a panic.

He furrows his brow at your suspiciously specific denial. "What?"

"Nothing." You snatch your empty cup and stand. "I'm done. You done? We should head back or something. Our girlfriends- boyfriends- _partners_ are probably languishing in boredom and loneliness without their Striders around to spice up their lives."

"If you say so, kid," Bro says with a shrug, tossing his cup into the nearest wastebasket with perfect aim like a total show-off before he even leaves his chair.

How did you live with this unpredictable yet awesome yet irritating jerk for twenty years again? Oh right, you spent your undergrad years at school, at the museum, or with Terezi.

You fight the urge to fidget or mumble the whole walk back to the bus stop. Catching Bro's attention again is the last thing you need. You're not sure what the first thing you need is, but it probably involves Terezi and a cold cider.

If the transit app is trustworthy today, you just missed the latest bus by two minutes, because of course you did. You totally needed an excuse to loiter with Bro for fifteen more minutes when he's acting weird as hell and actually talking to you and noticing you have gray hair. Fuck, this is going to be the awkwardest week of your damn life, isn't it?

Which pantheon did you piss off anyway? Wait, who are you kidding? Probably the Jewish one. Do Jews have a pantheon? You should ask Rose about that shit, except you shouldn't, because you still don't actually give a shit. Maybe the lack of giving a shit is how you pissed someone off.

You take a seat on one of the stone walls that surround the campus greenery and glance down the street because it's public transit tradition to watch for the next bus even if it's not due for over ten minutes.

Bro's so still that you'd almost believe that he's zoned out, but you keep catching his head twitch as he adjusts his view. He's studying the campus in that cool way of his, where an inexperienced observer would have no idea that he's taking in every inch of his surroundings.

That kind of exhaustive observation is probably how he noticed your stray gray hair. You thought you'd been thorough in eliminating them as they appeared, but apparently one slipped through the cracks. How was it any of his business to get his hands up in your space and investigate though? Fucking adults. Who cares that you're technically an adult too? He's an adultier adult, which means you're automatically the compliant one again.

Fuck manners. You shove in one earbud to banish the silence and hopefully kill your usual compulsion to talk -- you leave one ear free on campus, in case a colleague calls to you or one of the frat boys tries to pull shit.

Bro's the one who breaks the silence this time, because someone's obligated to, apparently. "Seems like a decent place."

You shrug. "It's pretty all right."

He comes over to sit next to you, keeping a respectful two feet of distance. Maybe he's not enjoying this awkward shit any more than you are; you've probably been coming off like a lame asshole and he can't be impressed by that. He stays quiet for a couple more minutes, then says, "You happy here?"

You raise your head in surprise, but his face is still an unreadable blank. Happy? This is just your life, not an Amazon review. You wake up next to your girlfriend, you study dead shit, you go to sleep and do it all over again. It's the fucking best. Five stars. "Yeah," you say. "I guess I am."

He nods. "Cool," he says before mercifully letting the silence hang in the air as you zone out to your music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rumor has it that the ex-mayor and his wife are awwwwfully close with that cop who frequents their shop. I'm sure they're all just really good friends.


	4. Chapter 4

Watching Bro interact with John is surreal as fuck.

Neither of them act all that different than usual, but that only makes it worse. John is his normal dorky self while Bro just chills with a perfect pokerface as if he doesn't have some chucklehead boyfriend prodding at him constantly.

You never really "approved" of their relationship. It's fucked up and weird and you still can't shake off the suspicion that Bro's exploiting John somehow. That said, it's their fucked up and weird business, not yours. John's a big boy who can make his own decisions, even if you find them more questionable than an unsourced Wikipedia article. It ain't your right to say anything.

That's what you remind yourself when John kisses Bro to greet him after a long hard day of visiting campus. That's what you put on repeat in your brain when Bro rests an arm around John's shoulders for the duration of dinner. That's what you hammer into your skull when you accidentally spy on them at three in the morning.

You just wanted to take a piss in peace, but instead you glance at the couch and catch sight of John's silhouette sleeping on Bro's chest, made all the more visible when illuminated by the bathroom light. The couch fucking folds out, you _know_ you told them that, but instead John's using Bro like a fleshy goddamn mattress.

This shouldn't bother you. Why does it bother you? It doesn't bother you. Except it does, because fuck logic or minding your own business.

How are they even sleeping that soundly? You're not sure you've ever seen Bro sleep, but then again, it's kind of hard to tell when he always sleeps with his goddamn shades on. He practically looks like a stranger, keeping so still and relaxed just with John's presence.

At least you can file this away as evidence that Bro really is okay with John and you don't need to worry as much that your best bro is settling for a shitty boyfriend.

All the same, when you crawl into bed, you press your face against Terezi's back and stay there until you pass out.

* * *

Despite all his new surprises, you can still count on Bro in one respect: he takes hella long showers. Since John's a prude, he's about as interested in joining Bro naked under hot water as you are, so you've got John all to yourself for at least an hour while Bro's in the bathroom and Terezi sleeps in.

Shooting the shit and chilling with your best friend was all you wanted from this week in the first place. Bro was supposed to slink around in the shadows as per usual and stay out of your way while you caught up with John, not yank away the spotlight and run circles around stage like a maniac.

Whatever. You've got John now, you've got an Xbox 360, and you are kicking John's ass in Dead Or Alive through the power of pressing buttons at random.

"So how come Rose doesn't visit you more often?" John asks, sucking on his lower lip as he attempts to deflect your strategy with some well-placed button mashing. "You live pretty close now."

"Eh, it still takes a few hours by car." You shrug. "She's stayed a weekend here, we've stayed a weekend there... It ain't a bad amount of visiting for Internet friends."

"If you're still fucked up about your heritage, you could probably talk to her about it," he says. "She's Jewish, isn't she?"

Your pokerface breaks in a scowl, but John's attention is on the TV anyway. "Who the hell said I was ever fucked up about that?" you say.

"Dirk did."

"Yeah, well, that's bullshit and he knows nothing and I'm not remotely dwelling on any of my newfound family information because I'm too cool to give half a fuck and can we talk about something else?" You keep your tone flat, but your health bar runs low as your concentration lapses and soon enough Helena's knocked out cold.

"Like what?" John glances at you as the game switches to the next character in your roster (who happens to be Tina because you never claimed to be above picking characters based on their looks).

"Something that's intrusive to you instead of me."

"I don't know my heritage," John says, sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth as he concentrates on the next match like he's a goddamn cartoon character. "Adopted, remember?"

"Dude, like I give a crap about that. I mean something obnoxiously none of my business, like..." You wave your hand in a circle, mashing the kick button with your other hand to keep John's character at bay. "How d'you even decide what counts as cheating in a celibate relationship anyway? Is sex still the main contender there or what?"

"No, it would be really shitty of him if he smooched someone else," John says with a short nod. "That is our private thing. Smooches and cuddles and stuff."

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense." Other than the word "cuddles" sharing a sentence with "Bro," anyway.

John's attention snaps up. "Oh, he takes his shades off in front of me too. That's a thing!"

"He does not," you say with a snort. Bro would never remove his shades except to keep them safe from a shower.

"He does so!" John says, just as his final character drops to the ground in defeat.

You rest your arm over the back of the couch and give him a stare. "What color are his eyes then?"

"Orange." He says it with so much confidence that you're pretty sure he's not pulling your leg just to keep the argument going.

You'd... always thought Bro's eyes were red like yours. Or you assumed that, because you've never actually seen them in memory.

You grunt. "Lucky guess."

"It's not a guess. I've seen them," John says, setting aside his controller and sitting up straight as if he's bragging. "They're pretty cool, but like, actually cool, not Strider-brand cool."

You falter, internally, where John can't see it. That's one more thing to add to the pile of ways Bro's startled you in the last three days. John knows more about your brother than you do.

Maybe that means you can at least prod around for the gritty gossip. "Does he dye his hair?" you ask. C'mon, Bro has to secretly have more gray hairs than you, right?

"No." John furrows his brow. "Why the hell would he dye his hair? I am fairly sure you are both natural blonds, dude."

Goddammit.

"Are we telling blond jokes?" Terezi interrupts, slipping out of the bedroom and rubbing her eyes.

"No, Terezi," John says.

"Aw." Her voice is a mix between a whine and a yawn. She pats at the couch before settling in next to you. "But I have a bunch of really good ones, just for Dave."

You wrap an arm around her shoulders and she snuggles in against you. "You can see how much she loves me," you say.

John smirks. "Sooo much, clearly."

She tilts her head, aiming her ear at the TV. "Do I hear the Dead Or Alive menu?" She waves an arm in front of you. "Hand me a controller. I need some morning exercise."

"How the hell are you going to play a game when you can't see?" John asks as you pass your controller over to her.

"First of all, I still enjoy the flashy colors on the TV," she says, selecting her roster by sound and memorization. "Also, unless you're one of those diehard game nerds who memorize the fancy combos, being legally blind is no deterrent to whooping your ass in a fighting game."

"It's true, dude," you say, releasing your grip on Terezi so she has full freedom of movement. "You can't ring her out in Dead Or Alive, so her lack of sight isn't much of a handicap." You lounge back to enjoy a good digital buttkicking session.

The match is barely underway when the shower goes quiet, replaced with the roar of a hairdryer. You take a deep breath and brace yourself. Won't be long now. Bro never leaves the bathroom with wet hair, but he's damn quick about drying off.

It turns out that John and Terezi are decently matched, and John's not above striking her character from behind at every chance he gets, but she's still a good half a health bar ahead of him. John's already lost his first character by the time the bathroom door opens.

You pull out your phone to make yourself look busy and minimize the chances that you have to interact with Bro -- not that he's above ignoring social protocol if he wants something, but at least you have an excuse to ignore him.

Maybe luck hasn't totally abandoned you yet: you've got an email from your professor, requesting detailed information about your schedule next semester. You don't know how you didn't hear the alert, but the important thing is that you totally have an excuse to fuck off to your room. Your iPhone isn't the place for drafting an email that lengthy and precise.

"Hey, I need to email my professor about important shit," you say, giving Terezi a quick peck on the temple. You receive only a distracted gamer's grunt in reply.

You kind of want to take the long way around to your room and avoid Bro like he's a guard in a stealth game with a preset territory you have to outsmart, but since he's not a dumb AI, he'd probably figure out what you're about. You suck it up and walk straight past him, to the point that your elbows bump. If he gives a shit that you greeted him a good morning by bumping into him, he keeps it to himself.

You close the door halfway, enough to give yourself some privacy without making it obvious that you're chickening out of socializing today, then collapse in your computer chair.

What were you doing again? Right, right, right, gotta check your schedule and get back to your teacher. You take your time booting up your Mac and noting down your class schedule, racking your brain in case you're forgetting some other obligation that devours your Wednesdays or something.

Dear Professor Walsh, blah blah blah, so many classes, not much free time, never enough sleep, totally got elbow room for an extra research assignment (because free tuition is a hell of a drug)...

There's a rough knock at your door. Who the hell in this apartment is thoughtful enough to knock? Sure as hell not Terezi, and Bro's never given a shit about proper etiquette, so you assume it's John until you glance over. Bro's standing in your doorway, because of course he is.

"Hey," he says, casual as ever, as if he hasn't just broken your mind with a sledgehammer for the billionth time.

You hold back a sigh and just say, "You want something?" If you hear one more surprise out of his mouth this week, you are going to flip your goddamn lid across the Atlantic.

"Nah, just checking on you for John," he says, leaning against the door frame.

"Well, you can tell him his heart will stop aching soon enough." You toss up a closing sentence into your email. "I'm almost done."

He nods, otherwise not moving. "Cool."

Is he seriously waiting on you? Goddammit, he's waiting on you. So much for dragging your feet. You just hit the send button, then give your inbox another scan in case you got a new message in the last five minutes.

"You're a sharp kid, you know."

You drag your mouse to the logout button and freeze as Bro's words sink in. You raise your head. "What?"

"I said you're sharp," he says. It sounds wrong from his totally chill face, like someone's dubbing over his real words. "Definitely turned out better than I could've imagined."

Your lid just flipped so far across the ocean that it bypassed the Atlantic and then some, making its way to the Pacific before finally crashing into the water. You clench your hands. "Okay, is this some kind of fucking joke?" you say, shoving your keyboard away. "Has this whole visit been some kind of elaborate test to make sure I'm still following the appropriate amount of irony up here at grad school? Is this the big gotcha moment?"

Bro cocks his head. "All I'm saying is that you did good, Dave," he says slowly.

"Yeah, sure, I totally believe that, dude." You get to your feet and cross your arms because sitting feels too vulnerable. "So now you've got my defenses down, you're going to dive in for the kill, right?"

Bro frowns. "It ain't like that."

"That why you keep slugging me upside the head with all these sudden and unwanted tidbits I should have heard _fifteen fucking years ago?_ " you blurt out before the words have even finished forming in your mind.

"What the hell are you reading this as malicious for? I'm just..." He hesitates, clenching his teeth as if he's trying to muffle his own voice as he says, "I'm trying to reconnect, kid."

You almost wish you had your shades off so he could see just how strong of a blank stare you're shooting his direction. That is the biggest bullshit you have ever heard -- and when you're friends with Rose Lalonde, you hear a _lot_ of mumbo-jumbo bullshit -- yet there's no way Bro would ever stoop to such unironic gesture, not even in an ironic way.

You can't fucking take this. It's nuts, it's wrong, and it's probably a trick of some kind. "You know what, bro, we were pretty chill at avoiding each other and not connecting," you say. "Why fix what ain't broken until something bends all wrong and no one's really sure what it's supposed to look like anymore but it sure was better before the so-called repair? Why the hell are you even here?"

"A slip in logic, clearly," Bro says with a scowl.

"Cool. Logic up and go back to leaving me the fuck alone." You jerk a thumb over your shoulder.

Bro goes silent. You're half-expecting for him to drop the jig and drag you into the strife he's no doubt been waiting on. Instead he turns his back to you. "Fine." Without further farewell, he leaves and you hear his voice in the other room call, "John, grab your shit. We're relocating to a motel."

"Wait, _what?_ " John's loud voice carries more clearly than Bro's. "Dirk, what did you do?" he says as you step out of your room. You weren't expecting Bro to actually _leave_ -leave, especially not with John. John looks to you. "You're not seriously kicking us out?"

"Just forget it, John," Bro says before you can answer.

"Dirk!" John says in exasperation as he gets to his feet, his game with Terezi forgotten.

Bro hoists up their suitcases. "I'm waiting outside," he says before disappearing out the door.

Terezi clears her throat and pulls a face that communicates "Well, that was awkward" better than words.

John stares after Bro for a moment before turning to you, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping. "What the fuck just happened?"

You shrug. "Bro just happened. Shit was awkward so he's opting to leave. The hell are you surprised for?"

"Because I don't fucking get it!" John tugs at his hair. "Like, yeah, he's a jerk, but he's a supportive and caring jerk. Why the hell am I the only one who actually gets to see that second part in action?"

"It's not cool to show off shit like that around a little brother," you say with a snort.

" _Son!_ " John shouts.

"That's even less cool."

"Family isn't about acting cool! If it was, we'd all be as miserable as you two idiots!" John says, huffing afterwards as if he's just run a full marathon of emotions. He takes a deep breath and winces. "I need to make sure Dirk doesn't do anything too stupid," he says, turning the volume down. "I'll call you later, okay? We can still hang out, right?"

He looks like a lost puppy. All he needs is a lip quiver to complete the image. Oh god, he doesn't think this mess is a judgment on him, does he?

"Yeah, you and I are still cool," you say. "I'm not punishing you for your boyfriend's dumb behavior. We'll figure something out even if we gotta chill at a McDonald's."

He lets out a sigh of relief and moves in to give you a quick hug. "Sorry, Dave," he murmurs before hightailing it after Bro.

As soon as the front door is closed, you spin around and head straight back to the comfort and privacy of your bedroom. You ignore that you're still logged into your email and fall face-first onto your mattress, letting out a long groan. This is your new home, right here on the sheets. You will never leave this spot. You'll build a cabin here and only venture out for food.

You hear footsteps following your path, but at least you don't have to guess who it is when the apartment is down to only one other occupant. Terezi is a welcome guest compared to the last one anyway.

She climbs next to you on the bed, fumbling for your shoulders and resting her hands there. "What happened, dumb butt?"

"I don't want to talk about it," you say, your voice muffled against the blankets.

"Yeeees, you do." She lies on top of you, resting her head against your shoulder blade. "Don't even try to lie to me, Dave Strider. Your lungs are gonna explode if you don't let out all the air you're holding back."

You take a deep breath. "Growing up is hard."

"Lemme guess. No one understands?"

"No one, ever." You turn your head enough that you can take in some fresh air. "I thought I understood everything and now it turns out I know fuckall."

"Well, I could have told you _that,_ " she says with a quiet chuckle, playing with the back of your shirt.

"I don't know if my bro's gone insane or if I've gone insane or if this is an elaborate plot of his to drive me insane later. All I know is that someone belongs in a straitjacket." You turn over, dislodging Terezi. "Is this his midlife crisis? Are midlife crises real? Oh my god, what if he _meant_ all that shit he spouted?"

"No clue!" She sits up, sounding way too damn chipper for what just went down. "What would you do if he meant that shit he spouted?"

"Cry, probably." You fall back against the bed and stare at the ceiling. "Big, heaping sobs of confusion. My emo tears would fill a swimming pool. I hope you've got a nice bikini prepared."

She hums. "Maybe I'll go canoeing."

"Good idea." You snort. "You can rescue John from drowning."

"Am I leaving your bro in the water?"

"I ain't feeling charitable towards that dude. He's fucking nuts." You roll over and mutter, "Why'd he have to show up now?" You half-hope Terezi doesn't hear, but her ears are pretty tough to beat.

"You do know I've never met him before and you never talk about him, right?" she says, curling up against your back as if she's trying to steal your body heat one way or another. "What was even so damn weird about him today?"

"Not today. The whole damn trip. He was, like, almost _nice_ to me." You scowl. "He's never talked to me that much before in my entire fucking life and suddenly he's dropping all this new info on me like we're _close_ or something."

"Yeah, niceness sure is a horrible thing to come from family," she says. You can practically hear the eyeroll.

You groan and close your eyes. "But he _ain't nice._ Either he's gone nuts or he's toying with me."

"He seemed nice enough to John," she says. You feel her shrug against you. "You think maybe your bro just had a change of heart?"

You roll onto your back again. "That's the most fucking disturbing possibility yet," you say flatly.

She leans over you, as if she sees more than just a blurry peach and red shape against the bed sheets. "Explain."

"If he's nuts, I cut him off and send him to an asylum. If he's toying with me, I cut him off and flip him the bird." You take a sharp breath. "What the almighty fuck do I do if he suddenly found an ounce of sincerity, like sincerity's some rare antique unearthed in the back of an old trunk stashed away in a dark attic somewhere?" you whisper.

She frowns, furrowing her brow in thought. "I don't know."

You don't either.

* * *

\-- ghostyTrickster [GT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 14:21 --

GT: y'know, if you're going to lock yourself in the bathroom to mope, you probably should have logged your phone off pesterchum.  
TT: I'm not fucking moping.  
GT: angsting, whatever!!  
TT: Is there a time limit to the bathroom now?  
TT: Can a guy not crap in peace without someone assuming he must be getting his angst on?  
GT: you've been in there ever since we checked in!  
TT: Lunch really didn't agree with me.  
TT: Better steer clear and piss outside in the bushes. They'll need hazmat suits to clean this place.  
GT: you'd seriously rather make me believe that you're taking the world's grossest shit instead of just admitting that you're having emotions again?  
TT: Yes.  
GT: :(  
GT: that's not healthy, dirk!  
TT: Neither is letting the world's grossest shit stay in its colon for very long instead of letting it out over the course of an hour.  
GT: that's disgusting.  
TT: Thank you.  
GT: fuck you, it wasn't a compliment!  
GT: but maybe you've got a point. it's not healthy at all to let something gross sit inside of you and fester, instead of letting it out and flushing it away.  
GT: hmmmm, almost like we've got an icky, toilet-based metaphor going on here for... your problems with your son.  
TT: Little brother.  
GT: your problems with your son that you desperately need to address before they give you a constipated stomachache.  
TT: Wow. Maybe leave the metaphor wrangling to me, John.  
GT: maybe stop dodging the subject so i don't have to steal metaphors from you to get anywhere!  
TT: Look, I tried, okay?  
TT: I tried and it blew up in my face, so clearly this shit wasn't meant to be.  
GT: you weren't meant to be on good terms with your son??  
TT: I'm not meant to be on any terms with Dave.  
TT: That ship sailed when he was fourteen and refusing to strife anymore.  
TT: Fuck, that ship sailed when he was two and I refused to pick him up.  
GT: when he was TWO?! why the hell would you do that????  
GT: jesus christ, teenagers make for some stupid, shitty parents!!  
TT: How was Dave supposed to learn to stand on his own if I was always picking him up when he got tired?  
GT: well, dave stands on his own now and is so unused to your presence that he doesn't want you anywhere near him!  
GT: hope you're happy!!!  
GT: he's sooooo independent and capable now, man!  
TT: Yeah, he is. Have you taken a look at him lately?  
TT: He moved halfway across the country to pursue a difficult career that he's apparently been pretty damn successful at so far.  
TT: He's happy, he's healthy, he knows how to take care of himself.  
TT: As far as I'm concerned? Mission fucking accomplished.  
GT: dirk, pleeease get the hell out of there already.  
TT: Why?  
GT: because i think i need to hug you.  
TT: I don't fucking  
TT: I'm  
TT: Yeah, okay, fine.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] at 14:35 --


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this chapter wasn't in my original outline, but then it clicked into place in some useful ways, so I had to add a few new and unexpected tags.

Life goes on. Bro keeps his distance. John remains too cheerful and optimistic but you love him anyway. Classes devour your free time with a giant ice cream spoon. Your hair sucks.

You're officially going gray and no amount of selective plucking is going to save you from that anymore -- unless you'd like to groom yourself to baldness instead. There are multiple silver streaks already and even more grays still peeking out at the roots. You'll be lucky if you have any blond hair left by thirty. Fuck your genetics. At least your hair isn't thinning.

You spend a long time staring in the mirror and deliberating the lesser of two lame options: wear your grays proudly, or admit defeat and dye them in shame.

"Dye them red!" Terezi says as she passes behind you to use the toilet. Apparently you were talking to yourself without realizing it again.

You sigh. "Like your crappy vision can even differentiate the silvers from the gold."

"Yeah, but other people can, so go bright, beautiful red and then I'll benefit from all the spoils." She cackles.

You ignore her because it's kind of weird to watch your girlfriend laugh as she takes a piss. Instead you concentrate on the mirror and try to visualize your blond hair morphing into a red dye job. If you got the wrong shade, it might clash with your eyes, not to mention your wardrobe. What if you get a shit dyejob and can't fix it for a week? There's an ironic brilliance to looking like an idiot while excelling in grad school, but you're kinda busy planning a dissertation and don't need the distraction.

"Hey, we're going to Aradia's party this Friday, right?" Terezi asks over the sound of a flush.

"Hell no, I don't got time for that." You move over preemptively so she doesn't have to shove you away from the sink, but she groans and nudges her shoulder against yours anyway. "Hey, never said you can't go by yourself," you say.

"C'mooon, the party can't get started without a Strider, right?" she says. "We'll be done with midterms, we have been studying our asses off, and it's time to par-tay." She shimmies her shoulders and gets her boogie down right there, like a temptress who knows the irony of busting some moves in a place as stupid as the bathroom.

"Wash your hands." You slip your shades on. At least your grays are less noticeable beneath a layer of darkened glass. Too bad the rest of the world can't be as cool as you. "Anyway, I've still got a heavy homework load to worry about next Monday, because my paleoecology professor sucks parasaurolophus eggs."

Her head still bobs in a disjointed rhythm as she hits the faucet. "Dave, I have no idea what the fuck you just said, but you're not going to fail your fancy science class just because you take one night off to have a crazy time with your friends. Isn't Aradia taking paleo-whatsit too?"

"She took it last year, because she's the smart one who got it out of the way early." You turn your back to the counter and rest your elbows on it. "What happened to your homework mountain of Mt. Everest proportions?"

"It's just a Mt. Fuji, coolkid." She flicks some water at you and you offer her the hand towel.

"So what are you always complaining about it for?"

"Climbing volcanos still isn't a cakewalk." She slides over until she's pressed against your shoulder as she wipes her hand offs. "Please come with me to the party? Karkat's invited and Gamzee isn't. You and Aradia can bore the shit out of everyone with all your dino blathering."

It is pretty fun to spout science-y words around your friends and watch them gape as they accept that you're hella smart. You know what else is fun, though? Passing your classes. God, when did you turn into such a killjoy nerd? "Promise we can leave before midnight and you've got a deal."

She snorts and hands back the towel so you can throw it over its hanger. "You sound like an old person."

"You take back that outrageous accusation. I just happen to enjoy a good night's sleep. And prioritize responsibility over fun. And have gray hair." You clasp a hand over your face in horror. "Oh my god, I'm an old person."

She kisses your cheek. "An awesome old person who chaperones the poor blind girl to her party."

The tension ebbs from your posture. "What would I do without you to lead me back into the rad light of irony?"

"Probably revert to your standard immaturity as soon as you touched a rap or a comic." She smirks and catches your hand. "But this way I'm the one reaping the benefits."

* * *

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 18:19 --

TT: Hey.   
TT: Facebook tells me you're scheduled for a party, because Facebook is my loyal servant who dishes up all of the juicy gossip that's technically none of my business.   
TT: Don't drink too much.   
TG: you cant tell me what to do   
TG: why the hell are you telling me what to do anyway   
TG: are you gonna set a curfew next   
TG: do i have to be home by ten   
TG: if my skirts too short are you going to make me go home and change   
TT: You just don't want to find out the hard way that alcoholism runs in your family, that's all.   
TG: pretty sure that aint a concern   
TG: bro always has like sixty packs of beer on hand and i aint even seen him drunk once   
TT: I didn't realize you were solely a clone of your brother.   
TG: my moms kind of a mysterious sore spot that id rather just ignore thanks   
TG: but fine whatever ill admit i dont know shit about her side of the family and its substance tolerance   
TT: Of course you don't.   
TG: whats that supposed to mean   
TT: I'm just reflecting on how astoundingly oblivious a man studying for his doctorate can be.   
TT: Enjoy your party.   
TT: But seriously, watch the booze.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 18:25 --

Goddamn psychology students and their goddamn cryptic bullshit. As if you've never gotten drunk before and made it to the other side just fine without turning into an alcoholic. As if you'd ever let yourself get drunk again.

"Were you texting and driving again?" Terezi asks, her nose wrinkling. Even she can probably spot the backlight of your phone against the otherwise dark environment of the car.

"Maybe." You stuff the phone back into your pocket. It's a quiet street. You're already pulling over to park. It barely counts.

Terezi crosses her arms. "Do you know how illegal that is?"

"Is it super illegal?" you ask as you turn the car off and nudge the door open.

"Incredibly illegal! Also, dangerous. I can't believe my boyfriend was breaking the law." She huffs as she climbs out. "Again."

You catch her hand when you meet her on the other side of the car. Not that she needs your guiding arm even in unfamiliar areas, but it's dark and it makes you sound all the more innocent when you ask, "When have I ever broken the law before?"

It's a short walk to Aradia's front porch since most of your friends are broke grad students too busy living hand-to-mouth to clog up parking. You already figure you'll be giving Karkat a ride home so he can avoid the midnight bus schedule.

"I know damn well you didn't pay a cent for any of those Vanilla Ice mp3s," Terezi says, her mouth twitching in a telltale sign that she's trying her damndest not to smirk.

"Who would?"

"You disgust me, criminal." She squeezes your hand.

You smirk and tug her in close for a quick kiss. "You know you love me and my bad boy ways, baby." Loud music and chatter seeps through the front door like a preemptive welcome and you waltz in without knocking because academics have no brain power left for formalities. "Yo, Megido, guess who's fashionably late?" you shout over the stereo.

Aradia waves from among a gaggle of your peers, mostly from other departments. "Hi, Dave!" she says. "Unfortunately, I think being late went out of fashion a few decades ago!"

You pause. "You don't fuck around when it comes to quips, do you?"

She shoots you one of her signature grins. "I have fun sometimes." She breaks free of the crowd to tug Terezi from you and lead her into the heart of the party. "Glad you could make it, Terezi!"

Terezi fistpumps. "Merry post-midterms and many happy grades, everybody!" she says to a chorus of tipsy cheers.

Oh, sure, grab Terezi when you're the real life of a party. Parties are nothing more than zombies 'til you get there. It's downright offensive they didn't ask you to DJ.

Who are you kidding? You haven't had a good night's sleep in two weeks and your shades are hiding some killer shadows under your eyes that would make Karkat envious. You can pump up the outgoing persona again when winter break hits.

Besides, this music is way too damn mainstream. Jesus, are they listening to Taylor Swift? You thought Aradia was more sophisticated than that. For fuckin' shame.

The refreshments table is likewise nothing to write home about. Nothing as sinful as Bud Lite has made its way onto the menu, but no one gets points for originality for stocking Guinness, Mike's Hard, Angry Orchard, and Smirnoff Ice. Okay, some points for bright pink grapefruit edition of Smirnoff Ice, though. Terezi's gonna get drunk off her ass as soon as she finds out about that shit.

You barely even know any of the other guests. Most of them sneaked their way into your dinosaur-loving posse from other disciplines, like future veterinarian Nepeta and marine biologist-to-be Eridan, which probably means Feferi is somewhere. They're cool, you guess, but no one's really up your speed until you spot a certain ex-English major skulking in a quiet corner of the room.

You crack open a hard cider and maneuver your way to Karkat. "Fancy bumping into you here, Vantas."

Karkat grunts, glances away, then does an honest to god double-take as he gawks at you. "I lose track of you for half a semester and you get tinsel stuck in your hair like a sugar high five-year-old on Christmas Eve?" he says.

Well, if subtlety was what you wanted, who better to approach than Karkat motherfucking Vantas? "Yeah, I hadn't noticed my premature aging until just this moment. Thanks for pointing it out. Truly a fog has been lifted from my eyes." You take a swig of cider. "I've had gray hairs for like a year and you just didn't see it 'cos I stayed on top of them like a badass."

He lets out a low whistle and shakes his head. "Holy shit, dude, how fucking old are you again?"

You wrinkle your nose. "Twenty-three next month."

"That's what you get for always missing my shifts and depriving me of the only customer I'm allowed to mock."

"Like you don't text me insults at every break instead." You smirk and waggle your eyebrows. "But hey, just ask the ex-mayor to stop putting your shifts during my classes. He'll understand if you explain you're missing out on eye candy."

Karkat snorts, side-eyeing you with just a hint of a smile. "Yeah, I'll tell him all about my new silver fox."

Let the records show that you can hella take a joke at your expense, because that makes you crack up. "Silver fox" sounds so fucking mature and sophisticated or something, the perfect ironic lampshade for your predicament. You end your snickering with a sigh. "So, going easy on the booze, huh?" you ask, nodding at his weakass bottle of lemonade.

Karkat fidgets with the label. "Yeah, I, uh... I was kinda raised in a household that got weird about alcohol. As much as I fucking hate to admit that I've still got baggage from that, it's been kinda hard to break through a mental roadblock that protects me from acting like a confused douchewad anyway."

"Makes sense." You cock your head towards him. "Muslim family?"

He turns to give you his most unimpressed of stares. "You know that it's possible to be Pakistani and not Muslim, right? I mean, yes, I technically grew up Muslim, but that's not why my dad was a jackass about booze, you pastey white douche. He's just insane." He scoffs with an epic eyeroll. "What's your excuse for being the only other asshole here who isn't totally plastered?" he asks, waving an arm at the room at large.

"I like to savor my ciders, thank you very much." You sample from your drink as example, only taking slow but steady sips. "Also, I cry when I'm drunk," you mumble around the bottle.

Karkat snaps out of his rage to let out a short, startled bark of laughter. "Oh my god, I'd pay to see that."

"Not on your life." You lower the bottle and tap its side. "I'm well-practiced in the art of getting just tipsy enough to have a good time without stepping over the line into Weepyville."

"Seriously, I'll give you a dollar."

"Eat me." You slump back against the wall. "Let's talk insane father. Wouldn't know anything about that or anything."

Karkat shudders as if he's reenacting an earthquake. "God fucking help you if you could relate to living with that self-righteous prick." He points a finger in your face. "Just so I'm crystal fucking clear, his issues had _shit_ to do with his religion. My grandfather was a motherfucking imam and _he_ was actually pretty cool, but unlike my dad, he was into these magical ideas commonly known as 'helping people' and 'not being a raging douchebag,' which is probably what most religions are supposed to be about," he says, putting on a sing-song tone to match the scare quotes. "My dad just warped everything he touched into affirming his self-serving bullshit."

You raise an eyebrow. "So he's like the equivalent of one of those Christians who screams bloody murder if you read porn, then wishes physical harm on any asshole who doesn't go to his church?"

He groans, rolling his head back. "I fucking wish it was that simple! If he caught me with porn, there'd be a stern lecture on how I'm not following the Quran right and I'm degrading women by having a sex drive, but also I need to make use of my sex drive if I'm not asexual or else I'm appropriating their struggle, and if I want to come out as asexual now would be a good time, since after all asexuality is a far less problematic orientation than _bisexuality,_ " Karkat says with such venom that flecks of spit fly out of his mouth.

You snort. "Either he's trolling you or you're trolling me." As a master troll who can switch between spouting offensive slurs to rile up Internet crusaders and claiming that "homosexual" is homophobic to send those same crusaders into a swirl of self-doubt, you know an attention-grabbing asshole when you see one. Then again, Poe's Law exists for a reason.

Karkat turns to you with wide eyes. "I'm not even exaggerating. I'm the opposite of exaggerating. He does these conflicting and self-righteous bullshit speeches all the goddamn time. One minute we're the poor oppressed minority whose views are automatically solid gold even on the occasion that those views come straight out of an anus, the next he's bitching me out that I'm too abrasive because I'll scare the white people by matching their stereotypes!"

You solemnly hold a hand over your heart. "As a white people, I can confirm that you are utterly terrifying. Your voice could smash eardrums like Animal the Muppet smashes real drums."

"Some people have eardrums that deserve to be smashed!" he screeches, though he's still not as loud as Adam Levine's screeching on the stereo. "Like my dad, for being a giant dickbag who once lectured a trans lady on how she couldn't stay with her gay husband because she might misgender herself!"

You're so used to Karkat's tantrums by this point that you just nod along, sipping at your cider. "Yeah, I think I've met this dude on Tumblr."

He draws himself up, but instead of another burst of fury, he just groans as if he's run out of fucks to give. "Oh my god, that website makes me projectile vomit my large intestine. Anything that reminds me too much of my dad makes me attempt to slam my head against the nearest hard surface until I induce video game-style amnesia and forget my dark past."

"You know it's serious when you try to invoke a cliche that stale."

He deflates with a long sigh. "Yeah, so now I'm one of those jerks who can't touch my heritage with a ten-foot pole because it just brings up all these crusty and rotten childhood memories."

"That sucks." You glance at him. "I'm actually Jewish, except my brother never told me until two months ago, so I've got a heritage I've got no qualms with, but I know jackshit about it."

"Wow. If only we could combine, we'd create the ultimate traumatized past. I know nothing about my past but it sure fucked me up!" he says, exaggerating even by his standards. He shakes his head with a bitter laugh. "I never would have imagined an imperfect day went by in the life of Dave Strider." He watches you with an oddly awed expression.

"Man, my bro..." You pull a face. Fuck, that won't make sense. Pause, deep breath, take two. "My bio-father was like the complete opposite of yours. Instead of confronting me over nitpicky bullshit, he just ignored me. I once overheard him tell a boyfriend that he's Finnish or else I wouldn't have known even that much about my family history."

"What about your mom?" he asks.

"Never met her. How 'bout yours?"

"I never met mine either." He shrugs. "I assume she ran screaming from my dad as soon as she found an exit."

"Well, damn. Here's to missing moms." You clink your bottles together, then grin. "Hey, what if it turns out your mom was Catholic?"

He rolls his eyes. "Christ on a pogo stick, anything but that."

"You better get hopping on those confessionals, Vantas," you say, nudging him with your elbow. "You've missed, like, a billion of them by now."

He nudges back. "Go study the Talmud, Strider."

"First I gotta help you find a rosary."

"To match your Star of David?"

You crack up, holding a hand over your eyes. "Ohhh my god, this booze is stronger than I thought if I'm finding this shit that hilarious." As if finishing a single bottle of cider could give you more than a light buzz. Loud parties just create drunkenness by osmosis.

"You want a lemonade instead?" Karkat asks. "No one else is even touching them."

"Uh..." You glance at his mostly-empty drink. "I didn't want to point this out to you like you're an idiot, but you _do_ realize that Mike's Hard has alcohol in it, right? Hence, you know, the 'hard' in the name."

"It has what in the name?" He turns the bottle over and adds about a dozen new lines to his brow. "God dammit, that's why it tastes like someone pissed in it!"

You shove your fist over your mouth to muffle your howl of laughter, partly for Karkat's benefit, but mostly because you don't want anyone to hear how loud you can laugh. "Oh my _god,_ you're so adorably sheltered," you say once you get your voice under control. "You willingly drank what you assumed was piss?"

"I'm not wasting food after opening it!" Karkat snaps.

"Whatever, man." You throw an arm over his shoulder. "Wanna join the drunk festivities and see if we have enough alcohol in our systems to actually have fun?" Because Mike's Hard ain't the weakest booze since Budweiser or anything.

Karkat just grunts at you where he would have ripped off anyone else's arm for daring to touch him. "It can't be much worse than hiding in a corner, except where stupid assholes might try to talk to me or smack my back or some other gross form of socialization."

"That's the spirit." You half-drag him out of the shadows and into the throng of tipsy grad students. At least no one is trying to drunk dance, though Terezi's probably only holding off because she's distracted by Aradia and Nepeta. "Hey, T'z, what'd we miss?" you shout over Nicki Minaj.

"Aradia's nails are red, Dave!" Terezi says at least five decibels higher than necessary. Yeah, she's already glugged all the booze and it's not just the empty bottle in her hand that's tipping you off.

"Neat," you say.

" _Red!_ I want red nails!" She reaches to paw at you and you're quick to step into her reach so she doesn't accidentally grope Karkat's chest instead. "Dave, lesh do our nails!"

Aradia shoots you an apologetic smile, flashing you her very red nails.

You release Karkat so you can catch Terezi's hand. "Hey, okay, but maybe let's not. There's all this other shit we could do to occupy our time, like watching grass grow or playing party games."

Terezi frowns, furrowing her brow. "Oh." Her eyes widen and she bounces on her heels. "Oh my god, I got the better idea! Lesh play spin th' bottle!" She raises her bottle triumphantly.

You try steering her away from the crowd so she doesn't smack into anyone. "Watch out, guys," you say. "Terezi drank herself back into middle school on us."

"I spin the bottle and it laaaands oooon..." She waves the bottle around in a vague motion of spinning before pointing it straight at your face. "You!"

You raise an eyebrow. "You didn't even spin- Mmph!" you say as she slams into you and pulls you into a deep kiss. She clenches the back of your hair and tugs you close, pressing herself against your front as she smashes her mouth against yours.

It would be really hot, if you weren't surrounded by your fucking peers.

She shoves against you again, bonking her forehead into yours. You don't mind the pain, but you catch your breath when she hits your shades in the crossfire. They just wobble a bit, but that's all the damage you need to slide them off and wave them at Karkat.

"Yo, Vantas," you call when you can get a word in edgewise, "be a bro and put these on top of a bookshelf where my drunk girlfriend can't accidentally smash them?" You'll feel like shit forever if you let crap happen to a ten-year-old keepsake from your long-distance best friend.

Because Karkat only pretends to be an asshole, he doesn't argue beyond letting out an epic huff of inconvenience as he rescues your shades.

Terezi finally remembers that her surroundings involve more than you and breaks away. "Karkat, no, come back here!" she calls. "Karkat! Karkat, Karkat, it's your turn!" She waves the bottle at him. You'd swear her sense of space has actually _improved_ with the alcohol. "Spin the bottle and get your mack on!"

Karkat pulls a face as he turns back from safely tucking your shades on the highest bookshelf he can reach. "Well, unlike you disgusting love birds, I don't have anybody I can just throw myself on, so I'll pass," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets and slouching.

Terezi gasps. "Oh my god, that's so shad!"

"Shad?" Karkat asks.

"The shaddest thing I've ever heard!" she says, her mouth tipped into an almost comical frown. She pats your chest. "It's okay, Karkat, you can borrow Dave."

You laugh because how else are you supposed to react to your girlfriend proposing you reenact a generic porno opening with the genders flipped? "Shit, was I just nominated this party's slut?" you ask.

"Spin the Dave!" She shoves you into Karkat. Goddamn, there's a lot of strength in those little arms. "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" she shouts, waving for the rest of the crowd to join in her chant. They're all too happy to oblige; you probably would too, if you were a tipsy onlooker.

It's not like you aren't aware you're destined to be the center of attention, but this is not exactly how you imagined gaining the spotlight.

Karkat looks as if he's been asked to perform a role on short notice without a script, resulting in a mix of annoyance and stage fright. "Are you drunk enough for this?" he asks.

"Not really, man, unless you count drunk off the atmosphere." You shrug. "That said, I'm not one to disappoint an adoring audience."

He narrows his eyes. "You mean you're succumbing to peer pressure."

You swing an arm around his shoulder and fall into his arms like a movie heroine. "I meant take me, you big lug," you say in your most sultry tone.

"Keep dreaming, Strider," he says flatly.

You're lucky he hasn't dropped you, but you've never been known to stop prodding the hornet's nest. "Hey, I have been informed by numerous hit singles that it's advisable to dream on. If anyone has valuable life advise to dispose, it's rock stars. Rock stars are like that wise old grandpa none of us actually had, except instead of wrinkles and hard caramel candies, they have ugly hair and drug-" For the second time tonight, your words turn into mumbled nonsense as lips lock over yours.

Cheers erupt around you, accompanied by flashes of cell phone cameras. You're kind of regretting putting yourself in a vulnerable pose right now, but this is not an end result you figured was on the table.

Karkat presses a hand against the back of your head for balance, so your options are limited to flailing or just going with it. You can't back away from a challenge, especially with an audience to record your cowardice, so you close your eyes and kiss back. It's firm but not half as wild as Terezi's sloppy makeouts.

Karkat lets up, his face flushed and his breathing heavy. "I've always wanted to do that," he says, his voice too hoarse to reach his regular volume.

He always wanted to cut someone off with a kiss, or he always wanted to cut you off with a kiss? Does it even matter?

"Well, duh." You smirk. "Everyone wants a piece of me."

His arms suddenly become the sole reason you're not on the floor as he kicks your feet out from under you in retaliation for your cockiness. Years of training with Bro and you didn't see that coming. For fuckin' shame.

It's difficult to chastise yourself properly when your local best friend's tongue is making its way down your throat. Since when is frenching necessary to placate the crowd? Wait, why the fuck is he double dipping in the first place? You should probably push him away, or... something. It feels kind of good, though. God, you're such a fucking slut.

"My turn again!" Terezi says, tugging on your arm.

Karkat yanks away from you as if your mouth is full of lava instead of saliva. It's not beyond you to catch your balance, until Terezi slams into you and you both land on the floor. She doesn't seem to give a shit as she sits on your chest and steals your mouth back for her usage.

You're too distracted to notice when exactly Karkat slips away, but he's gone by the time you stumble back to your feet with an arm wrapped around Terezi's shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirk will return to the story shortly.


	6. Chapter 6

"Daaave..."

The word tickles your ear and tugs you from sleep. You bury your face deeper into the pillow.

"Dave," Terezi whispers again. "Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave-"

You groan and raise your head. "Whaaaat?" you say, too half-asleep to remember not to whine like a jerkoff.

"Wake up." She curls into the mattress and wraps her arms around her head.

Fuck, are you due for class? Work? A comic update? Your mind defogs as your brain continues the difficult shift to consciousness. "It's Saturday goddamn morning." You fall back and stare at the ceiling.

"I need painkiller," she mumbles.

You sigh. The responsibilities of the designated driver never end. "Yeah, okay, I'm on it." You climb off the bed, shifting the mattress as little as possible as you make your way towards the bathroom.

This isn't the first time you've played nurse. Step one is to locate the ibuprofen and grab two pills. Step two is fill a glass of water because you're a hella competent nurse who doesn't let your patients swallow pills dry. Too bad the task doesn't come with a sexy uniform. Nurse Strider here to deliver Ms. Pyrope's medicine.

No, fuck that, you'll be Dr. Strider in a few years. You've gotta hire a nurse for this roleplay. Nurse Vantas, maybe. Hubba hubba.

Terezi's cup overflows as you hold it over the sink, coating your fingers with cold faucet water. You did not just use "hubba hubba" in relation to Karkat. Why the fuck would you? You're not attracted to Karkat. Or men. Or men named Karkat. You just frenched him and liked it. Because irony, god damn it. You turn off the water.

You grab a Snickers bar to go with Terezi's ibuprofen and very full glass of water so she doesn't get a stomachache worse than the hangover before you slink back to the bedroom. She's got her face buried in a pillow, but she waves at you as soon as you step onto the carpet -- she can always hear you approach despite your ninja training from Bro.

"One hangover special, comin' up," you say as you settle next to her and hand over some small mercies.

"I love youuuu," she mumbles, rolling onto her side and sitting up enough that she can swallow the pills without choking.

"Love you too, drunky," you say with a smile that fades half a moment later.

You still haven't addressed last night's misadventure involving Karkat, not with a sober Terezi. She's a reasonable gal, though. She'll exact any justice she deems necessary and call you on your careless shit, but she'll also understand that you were backed into a corner and pulled a one-time stupid move, right?

Maybe she'll demand less groveling if you plead guilty.

You take a deep breath. "T'z, do you remember what happened last night?"

Despite her cringing expression, she manages a small smile. "Shit, that was great, wasn't it?" She settles back onto the pillow and nudges your knee. "Hey, make sure you call Karkat. It's not cool to mack on someone and leave them hanging the next day."

You hesitate, waiting for the eye of the storm to pass before you leap into the hurricane. "You're not... mad I kissed another dude?"

"Mad about what? How hot you two were together? I don't mind stepping up my game." She waggles her eyebrows.

You stare blankly at her. Is she seriously implying that she's not just cool with last night, she's cool with a sequel to last night? Are you getting a whole mini-series? Dave and Karkat make poor decisions, talk shit about their family, and make out like desperate losers: coming this fall to HBO, where all the full frontal nudity will still feature girls even though the story centers on two gay dudes.

She rolls onto her back, closing her eyes. "You gonna kiss him again?"

"What?" Your face isn't heating up from embarrassment. It's just stuffy out. "No. No. I mean, no. Should I?"

She chuckles with a wince. "Do I get to listen to the end results?"

Well, no shitty show is complete without a live studio audience, but Terezi deserves a better role than _that_ thankless job. "Do you want to join in?" you ask.

"Oh, like hell I have the energy to keep up with Karkat and his high maintenance bullshit." She rubs her temple and groans. "I can't even keep up with Smirnoff Ice."

"But you're, like, cool if I'm the one putting up with his high maintenance bullshit," you say, laying it out where she can correct what's clearly a misunderstanding.

"Sure, why not?" She paws at your thigh until you take her hand. "You're still my boyfriend, right?"

"I kinda figured that's why I shouldn't kiss him again."

"So long as I get a kiss for every time you kiss him, I think we can call it good." She tugs you down for a soft kiss. "Also, seriously, I want to listen sometimes," she whispers.

You clear your throat. "I think we're jumping to assumptions here. We're jumping like a hyped up rabbit on a trampoline. Since when am I kissing Karkat again?"

She smirks. "You mean you aren't gonna ask him to?"

"No. Maybe. It's complicated." Why would you? Last night was just a weird fluke, like watching an episode of American Idol on a whim. Except for the part where you discover that you enjoy shitty reality shows. "I should talk to him."

"Sounds like it." She turns over, hugging her pillow close. "I should sleep another five hours," she says, her voice heavy.

"Sounds like it," you echo, running your fingers through her hair and studying her as she slips back into sleep where her hangover's claws retract.

You can't say redheads often catch your eye, but her hair has always been one of your favorite features of hers. Maybe you're attracted to the irony that she loves red so much and can't appreciate the red on top of her head. Or maybe you just like how she styles it, lank yet turned up before the tips reach her shoulders.

Vain as shit reasons aside, you're lucky as hell she likes you. She's clever, she puts up with your shit with the grace of Tony Hawk making a smooth landing, and she gives you raging boners, so why the _fuck_ are you still entertaining the possibility of swapping spit with Karkat again? You're attracted to women, goddammit, and you do not find dicks hot no matter what Rose says.

You slip out of the bedroom, because you're too frazzled to pass out again and you're not a big enough jackass to fret where it might wake Terezi, because you love her and stuff.

Maybe Karkat's just as freaked out as you are and you're stressing yourself out over an anthill covered in spilled milk. You just need to confirm that you were both drunk on atmosphere and the kiss meant nothing. Two kisses. The point remains they meant nothing.

For once forgetting your phone on the couch overnight pays off, since you don't have to re-invade the bedroom in order to wave for Karkat's attention.

TG: hey sup whats up   
TG: i mean sup   
TG: just sup   
TG: or whats up   
TG: either or   
TG: just not that redundant shit no ones got time for repetition   
TG: like hows it going   
TG: um   
TG: did you have a cool time at the party   
TG: that one part was sure a thing   
TG: ok please answer soon before i say something dumber   
TG: my mouth only has so much more space for my foot here

Yeah, okay, time to dive through Twitter to give Karkat more than half a second to reply to you. No, wait, Facebook; that's at least thirty percent less stressful and fifty percent more rewarding. You've got comments to like and profound memes to share.

You always have new notifications to sort through in the morning, but the red icon in the corner of the app flashes an absurdly large number even by your prolific standards. Did you leave a status that controversial last night?

At least it'll make a good distraction if you pissed someone off.

"Aradia Megido tagged you in 9 photos," "Nepeta Leijon tagged you in 15 photos," "Feferi Peixes tagged you in 5 photos..." Never mind. Everyone's pic dumping for the party's morning-after. You're probably a blurry blond head in the background of fifty dumb selfies, because if there's one thing Facebook users have in common, it's the OCD impulse to tag every human toe visible in their photos.

You're half-right. There's a number of group shots where you're nothing more than a background element, but you take front-and-center alongside Karkat in eight too many photos.

So that's the face you made when Karkat shoved his mouth over yours. You held off your surprise pretty well despite your lack of shades. Maybe too well. You should look way less fucking chill about making out with your best bro.

Wait, _shit,_ are these photos set to public?

Does that even matter when they'll show up on your timeline regardless, so all of your friends get a front seat view of your bromance?

Does it count as a bromance anymore after tongues touch?

Are you just gay?

Fuck, why isn't Karkat answering your messages?

Facebook's red notification icon pops up again with the chipper announcement of, "Rose Lalonde liked a photo you're tagged in."

You close the app.

You need help.

* * *

Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up, c'mon, John, pick up... You've got a shitton of rambling to do and the number one obstacle is that your best bro isn't answering his goddamn phone.

"Hi, this is John's Gourmet Horseradish Shoppe. We're not currently accepting new orders thanks to high demand, but if you'd like to be added to the mailing list to try our next batch of coconut and Froot Loops horseradish, leave a message after the tone."

He probably thinks he's so fucking clever. You hang up and pace the length of the apartment, from the front door to the kitchen and back, avoiding the bedroom because you're at least that considerate.

Sixth time's the charm, right?

You redial without actually expecting an answer. When the call picks up after five rings, you're sure you're about to hear another dumbass rendition of John's fictional store announcement. Instead an unemotional and deep voice says, "He's in the shower and he won't check his voicemail for a week, so what the hell do you want?"

You twitch. How in god's name did you manage to call when _John's_ showering instead of Bro? "I'll call back later."

"Right, so I'll tell him you called and had something too embarrassing going on to leave a message like a considerate person."

Your pacing increases. "I'm not talking to you. We're not in contact. You don't need to know I caught your gay."

"You what?" Bro says.

"Nothing," you say so fast it might as well be one syllable.

"You can't catch gay."

You grit your teeth and grimace at the ceiling. "Apparently you can when it comes from a guy gay enough to make puppet porn."

"You're not attracted to your girlfriend?"

"Of course I am!" You rub a palm over your face. You should shut up, but your mouth suffers from delayed reaction. "I just macked on a dude in what was supposed to be a dumb joke and then suddenly we're both into it."

"That's not gay, dumbass. You're probably bi."

You furrow your brow. "What? No." That's stupid and untrue. You don't need a new shiny label anyway. It solves nothing. "Look, how do I stop being gay? There's some kind of trick to it, right?"

Bro lets out a long sigh. "Dave, this is the one situation where I will ever tell you this: do _not_ follow in my footsteps. I don't give a shit what your orientation is, but do not fake attraction to someone you ain't actually attracted to. It isn't cool on any level of irony," he says, and you're not sure you've ever heard him sound so serious. "I ever tell you to use condoms?"

You fidget with the bottom of your phone. "No."

"Use fucking condoms."

"I'm not an idiot, dude," you mutter. Even if you weren't aware of how babies pop into existence, Terezi's on the pill anyway. "I'm not getting saddled with an expensive bundle of regret like you did."

"I don't regret you, Dave." Bro says it so quietly that you're not sure you heard him right, but you don't have the guts to request a repeat. He returns to regular volume as he continues, "Seriously, if you legit think your girlfriend is hot, you're not gay just for finding a dude sexy."

Heat travels to your face. "Okay, 'sexy' is kind of a strong word."

"So you're attracted to him. Whatever."

"I guess?" You run your hand through your bangs. "I'm not really all that excited about sucking his cock or anything."

"Oh, yeah, severe cravings for cocksucking are totally required before they'll hand out your queer membership card," he says, laying it on thick as if you wouldn't catch the sarcasm otherwise. "Or maybe you're just shy and don't like putting out on the first date. What a concept."

You scowl. God, he's such a douchebag. "What exactly am I supposed to tell you?"

"Do you look at this dude and go 'yeah, I'd tap that' on any level?"

"Not that that's remotely any of your business, but no, not really," you say, because you're apparently a masochist who can't hang up even when confronted with the last question you ever wanted to consider, let alone answer.

"Any desire to see him nude even when it makes you want to smack your brain into better behavior as soon as the thought crosses your mind?" he says, as if he's reading off a mass-designed customer survey and he's not your father asking about your sexy daydreams.

Well, _now_ you're imagining Karkat naked. Wonderful. Imaginary sausage is exactly what you need in a pinch. "That... has not really been a mental battle, no," you say with a wince.

"Sounds pretty straight, kid," he says.

You lean your forehead against the nearest wall. "So I kissed a dude and I liked it and I want to do it again... and that reads as _straight_ to you?"

"You don't want to fuck him."

This is the worst conversation you've ever had in your fucking life. "I hadn't really thought about it 'til you got up in my business, but no, I don't really want to fuck him."

"I revise my previous statement," he says. "That sounds pretty asexual."

" _What?_ "

"Say that shit again and tell me you don't sound like John."

"Are you kidding me?" You pull yourself up and drop onto the couch instead. "I'm all about the vagina. I could stick my face in twenty vaginas and ask for more. I should go stick my face in Terezi's vagina twenty times just to spite this conversation, because I don't think you comprehend how very not remotely asexual I am."

"Noted. You're a whore for girls and asexual for dudes."

You open your mouth, hesitate, and frown. "Wait, is that an actual thing?"

"I don't fucking know," he says with an annoyed grunt. "There are ten new orientations every time I turn around and I can't even keep up with it anymore. Or new labels for orientations that already existed, whichever. This new generation is a fuckin' slut for categorizing every little variation of a thing that used to sit happy under broader labels."

You roll your eyes. "Dude, stop sounding like an out-of-touch old person. You're not even forty."

"Nah, it's way too late to worry about that. I've blamed kids for ruining everything since I was twenty," he says with a little too much amusement. "It probably just comes with the territory of being a teenage parent." There's a quiet lull in the conversation, but not the kind that actually signals your turn. "Shit, you were seven when I was your age," he whispers.

You swallow hard. It's not that you were incapable of the math before, but the numbers hit like a punch to the head and a boulder to the gut when put in that kind of perspective. He was _twenty-two_ when you were _seven?_

Christ, you were a college freshman at the same age where Bro was a full-fledged _parent._ You're still not ready to care for the physical and emotional needs of an infant, let alone the needs of a half-grown human. You can't even imagine it. You'd probably just die. Or the kid would die. Whichever came first.

"Yeah, I guess you can be an honorary old man," you mumble. "Yelling at the dumb kids. Dropping your gay wisdom where it's needed. Acting as the intimidating fucker."

"Wisdom, huh? Does that mean something I said drilled through your skull?"

You sink against the couch cushions. "Fuck, I don't know. I'm still kind of reeling here, man."

He's silent for a long moment. "Want in on a secret?"

Not really, but you still answer, "Yeah?"

"Labels are optional. If you find one that feels cool pinned to your identity, run with it. Otherwise, just do what comes natural and don't sweat it. I call myself gay because it's a mating call that attracts like-minded partners, but honestly, I fucking hate it."

You prop yourself against an arm rest, trying to wrap your mind around what he just said and all the ways it doesn't make any damn sense. "But you're like..." You fumble for the right word. "Super gay."

He snorts. "So what? I've got better identifying features than my hankering for man meat."

If you didn't know better, that sounds suspiciously like a confession that Bro can actually feel self-conscious, which is pretty damn absurd. Absurdity seems to be this morning's special: just five ninety-nine with a Coke and side of fries.

"Even if we drop the gay debate," you say, "what the fuck am I supposed to do with Terezi on one arm and a loudass new guy on the other?"

"Damn, you're dancing with a poly relationship?" he says, sounding impressed. "You talking V-shaped or straight-up triad?"

You scowl at the ceiling. What the fuck did he even just say? Do you _want_ to know? "How do you know so many goddamn labels if you hate them?"

"How else am I supposed to shower newcomers like you in rad old school wisdom if I haven't extensively studied the terminology?" he asks. "Chill, li'l bro. You don't need answers immediately so long as you don't do anything stupid in the meantime."

You groan. "No guarantees on the stupid front."

"You'll figure it out." He takes a long enough breath that his receiver picks it up. "Dave, I know shit's weird between us and that's my fault, but if you ever need help, you've got my number."

"Oh," you say, because neutrality is the most commitment you can muster to a guy you cut contact with. You should have just hung up five minutes ago, but despite all odds he's been kinda... comforting? Is that seriously the correct word for it?

He isn't as unpleasant as your memories hyped him up to be, at any rate. Awkward and blunt and a rudeass motherfucker, sure, but that goes with the Strider territory. You weren't expecting nuggets of wisdom that sound so damn genuinely _concerned._ Maybe John's not in the shower at all and is coaching Bro through this conversation. Maybe the emotions Bro displayed last summer weren't as fake as you chalked them up to be.

You welcome the distraction when your phone buzzes with a new message from Pesterchum. You pull your ear away so you can check the screen while keeping it close enough you can still hear the speaker.

CG: SORRY, I FORGOT TO LOG OUT FOR MORNING SHIFT BECAUSE PAST ME IS A FUCKING MORON. I'M ON BREAK NOW.   
CG: WE, UH... WE SHOULD PROBABLY TALK.

"Hey," you say, pulling the receiver close again, "I need to get in touch with my maybe-boyfriend and get shit sorted out, so I'm gonna make like a pile of leaves in the autumn and scatter."

"Good plan," Bro says, mercifully not repeating his offer.

You bite your lower lip. "Hey, Bro?" You're not even certain how you're going to continue until the last word slips out. "Thanks."

"Anytime, kid," Bro says.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, I figured I'd get all this work done over here now that Second Best is over, but then 4/13 did a number on me. Lessee, where were we? Dave and Karkat made out at a party, Terezi approved, Dave had a gay panic and accidentally contacted Dirk, and Dirk helped calm him into approaching his new poly maybe-boyfriend with a little less panic, thus bringing the Strider family back on speaking terms. And now Dave and Karkat get to hash out the consequences of their unexpected kissing affair.

TG: so   
TG: this is awkward   
CG: GODDAMMIT   
CG: I WAS AFRAID OF THAT.   
CG: DID TEREZI CHEW YOU OUT?   
TG: nah   
TG: she wants to listen in like a perv if we keep up the kissing shit though   
CG: WHAT???   
TG: shrug   
TG: im just the messenger dont shoot   
CG: WE'RE GOING TO KEEP KISSING?   
TG: i guess its a possibility   
CG: STRIDER, DID IT EVER OCCUR TO YOU THAT THIS MAY IN FACT BE A POOR TIME TO ACT LIKE A VAGUE PIECE OF SHIT?   
CG: IS THIS THE PART WHERE WE SHYLY HOLD HANDS AND FLUTTER OUR EYELASHES AT EACH OTHER, OR THE PART WHERE WE SWEEP THE PILE OF DOG SHIT UNDER THE RUG AND CONTINUE OUR FRIENDSHIP AS USUAL?   
CG: IF WE CAN EVEN KEEP BEING FRIENDS AFTER SUCH A FAILURE IN LOGIC.   
TG: dude of course were still friends goddamn   
TG: were just friends who kissed once   
TG: twice   
TG: whatever   
CG: SO, WE'RE JUST... FORGETTING THAT   
TG: idk   
CG: WHAT DID I JUST SAY ABOUT BEING VAGUE?!   
TG: idk   
CG: SOMETIMES I CANNOT FUCKING BELIEVE I'M ATTRACTED TO A DOUCHEBAG AS INFURIATING AS YOU.   
TG: wait does that mean like youre crushing on me   
CG: WHY THE HELL ELSE DO YOU THINK I'M ASKING ABOUT OUR RELATIONSHIP INSTEAD OF JUST TRYING TO IGNORE LAST NIGHT?   
CG: LEARN SOME BASIC FUCKING ROMANCE ETIQUETTE   
CG: WAIT, WHERE DO YOU EVEN STAND ON THIS??   
TG: idk seriously   
TG: terezis cool with it   
TG: thats all ive got   
CG: CAN WE JUST MEET UP IN PERSON SOON SO I CAN THROW SODA IN YOUR FACE NEXT TIME YOU ANSWER A SENSITIVE QUESTION WITH "IDK"?   
CG: ALSO, I NEED TO GET BACK TO WORK.   
TG: ive got a huge project due monday so i kind of dont need this kind of stress hanging over my head right now   
TG: so   
TG: can we do monday evening   
CG: IF IT WILL GIVE YOU A CHANCE TO SQUEEZE YOUR BRAIN BACK INTO YOUR NOSE BY THE TIME WE TALK AGAIN, DONE. STAND ME UP AND I'LL MAKE YOUR EARS RING FOR A MONTH WITH MY RIGHTEOUS ROARS.

* * *

"Dave?"

You pop out your headphones and glance up from your textbook. "Yeah?"

Terezi rolls over on the mattress until she bumps into you, abandoning her own homework. "You should take a break and read to me," she says, her voice muffled against your shoulder.

You narrow your eyes. "Are you trying to make me flunk? Are you trying to make _you_ flunk?" You smack your textbook with the back of your hand. "How terrible are we at studying?"

"Really terrible. So terrible that this chapter's like trying to read through a poisoned bog." She crawls on your back so that you're pinned to the mattress, burying her face in your shirt. "It's about a bunch of domestic abuse cases," she mumbles.

You sigh, sinking into the bed. "Yeah, okay, we'll refresh with something light and poorly written." You push the textbook away and fumble for your phone instead. "So what are you feeling? Problem Sleuth, Midnight Crew, or Housetrapped?" you ask, thumbing your way through the dark alleys of FanFiction.Net, AO3's sloppy and conservative uncle.

"What looks good from the Midnight Crew fandom today?" she says, playing with your hair.

It only takes a couple of thumb flicks before you settle on a description too ironically brilliant to pass up. "Just a fucking jackpot big enough to make a Powerball winner weep from jealousy." You smirk as you click on the link. "Remember that horrendous fic where Droog turns into a catboy and Boxcar adopts him and gag-worthy fluff ensues?"

She perks up. "Did it get a sequel?"

"No, but the same author has a new fic." You give the freshly loaded fic a quick scroll to confirm it's as dreadful as the summary suggests. It does not disappoint. "This time Droog's asexual for no reason. I mean, obviously the dude with a blatant porn stash is the type of ace to recoil at kissing, let alone seeing a nipple, right? But it's cool, because Spades is totally chill going celibate for him even though he didn't know asexuality even existed until five seconds ago."

She laughs into your shoulder. "Oh, fuck yes. Bring on the stupid."

You oblige, inappropriate voices and all.

Poking fun at bad fanfic is probably one of your more mean-spirited hobbies -- right up there with the time you convinced at least a dozen people on Tumblr that eyesight is a social construct -- but hey, you never claimed to be a nice person.

In your defense, you're sharing an intimate moment with your girlfriend here. How can you not bond over such top notch writing together? The prose is so purple that it's slaughtered any hints of red and blue in the world; the sky is purple, apples are purple, everything is purple except for Spades Slick's crystal blue eyes that shimmer like the ocean -- which are pretty purple, actually.

The grammar is a minefield of misplaced commas, but that's forgivable -- fuckers just need to invest in a friend like Rose Lalonde, who's more than happy to nitpick punctuation and suggest semicolons at every turn. Nah, the cherry on top of this sticky melted sundae is the characterization.

"When you were late to our date today, I felt very hurt." Fucking incredible dialogue. It's as if Spades Slick swallowed a book on relationship advice and can only speak in regurgitations of the trust-building exercises. That is absolutely how a hardened mobster talks.

Droog's cold and indifferent presentation, meanwhile, is reduced to shyness and wibbling, because asexuality. His casual but plentiful interest in grayscale naked ladies is replaced by a revulsion to all skin above the knee, because asexuality. His snappy dialogue has turned chaste and innocent, because asexuality.

You'd better warn John that he's not doing asexuality right. Orientation consumes all; hide the children before it consumes them too and they become stereotypical husks of their former selves.

Not that you're complaining. You haven't laughed this hard in a month and, if tipjars were less frowned upon in fanfiction circles, you'd leave the author a couple bucks just for the pleasure of seeing Terezi genuinely smile.

"Aw, they're so happy together," she coos as you finish five thousand words of schlock.

You clear your throat and reach for an old bottle of AJ on the night stand. "Yeah, I'm sure they'll be together forever and ever," you say, your voice hoarse after all that reading.

Maybe some jerks can handle celibacy, but you doubt Spades Slick is one of them. God knows _you_ wouldn't get far in a sexless romance. You frown. Though what exactly are you planning with Karkat when you're still pretty damn sure you're not into dong?

"Hey..." You sound closer to normal after applying moisture to your lips. "Hypothetically speaking, if I turned out to be a prude like John, would you still date me?"

"Don't even think about it," Terezi says without hesitation.

You snort and nudge her shoulder. "I said it's just a hypothetical. And I meant that in the real sense of the word, not as if I was trying to test the waters for a true thing like a ninja fisherman."

She hums thoughtfully and tilts her head, furrowing her brow. "Am I a bad girlfriend if I say no?"

"Nah." You stick your phone back in your pocket, but not before bookmarking that writer for future ironic perusal. "People break up over dumber shit than incompatible sex lives."

She considers it another moment, then nods. "Then no, I would not date you if you couldn't keep up with my libido." She smirks. "For that matter, you should count yourself lucky that you're so willing to go down on a girl."

"Really?" You prop yourself up on your elbow and say in your sultriest voice, "I thought my big appeal is that I read you shitty fanfiction."

She leans over and runs her tongue up your throat. "Even my computer can do _that,_ Strider."

You shiver. Jury's still out on whether this is the hottest or grossest dish on the Pyrope menu, but you don't object to all her sloppy cayenne on your neck, so that's something. "Not with voices and hammy acting it can't," you say. "So how common do you suppose it is for the average asshole to commit to the celibate lifestyle long-term?"

She withdraws, shrugging. "Probably not common at all."

"Yeah, figured," you say, wiping your sleeve against your neck. Maybe you need to readjust your view on dicks if you actually intend to keep swapping spit with Karkat. Not that you're clear on that just yet.

Terezi rolls back over to her textbook, which is as illegible to you as your books are to her. "Are you thinking about John?" she asks.

"What? No," you say in the same defensive tone that usually accompanies a lie, except for once you're being truthful.

She laughs and shakes her head. "Dave, it's _John_ we're talking about. If anyone tries to push him into a situation he doesn't want, he'll bitch and moan and complain until they run for the hills just to escape his tantrums."

"Yeah, Bro wouldn't stand a chance," you mumble. Why correct her when you can run away from your problems by letting her assume your beef is still with Bro? "That shit must work out for them somehow." You guess Bro's not totally hopeless, if he can stand against a wave of biological demands and a lifetime of cultural expectations.

You're the mess these days.

* * *

The relief from turning in Monday's giant workload is short lived. You have the entire rest of the week still ahead of you, for one, but mostly you're regretting not delaying your date with Karkat, because you're skipping straight from one stress to another. Not that it's a date. It's just a meeting, a rendezvous, a casual affair- Goddammit, stop making it worse.

At least you talked him into meeting you at Pizza Hut, because you are going to fucking celebrate this academic accomplishment somehow and pizza is the food of victors. (Also, Karkat vetoed Taco Bell. He vetoed it hard.)

"It's just Karkat," Terezi says as she slides into the booth across from you. "Don't be so nervous."

You scowl, picking up your menu just to give your hands something to do. Let's see, what do they got? Pizza? Shocker. "I am not fucking nervous." You're just regretting that you took the seat across from her out of habit rather than sitting next to her. It's too late to switch without losing face, isn't it?

She nudges your foot under the table. "Your pokerface can't work on the blind girl, Strider. Don't try to hide your feelings from me. You'll just end up barfing them on your sleeve if you hold it in too long."

You clamp your mouth shut, turning over a reply in your head until you're fairly sure you're not about to stick your foot where it doesn't belong. "I don't date dudes, okay?"

"So you're turning him down?" She rests her chin in her hand and sighs. "That's cold. I will have to dub you coldkid from now on."

You snort. "I'm fucking frigid over here, man. The world should beware my shoulders and their icy touch."

"The Midas of ice." She reaches across the table to poke you, stumbling across your hand first. "It is you."

You set the menu down and rest your arms on the table. "Vantas is a pretty cool dude too, though, if we're talking temperatures of local civilians."

She smirks. "He has his moments."

"Nah, he's legit awesome beneath all that shouting. He brought me coffee once."

"I'll remember that next time I want to bribe you for backrubs."

Before you can continue trading stupid jabs, a shadow looms over your table. "Why the fuck would you get here early when you know damn well I only just got off of work?" Karkat demands, hands on his hips like he's a teacher scolding a particularly stupid pupil. "Do basic fucking math; of course I wouldn't be here any earlier than we agreed, but here you are, wasting your valuable time anyway!"

Terezi sighs, leaning back in her seat. "Relax, Karkat. We've only been here a couple of minutes."

"Hey, dude." You raise your hand in greeting. "Fuck, argh, anger at you too. I forgot the secret handshake though," you say. He flips you off. "Oh, never mind, I knew that one."

He rolls his eyes. "Is this a preview for the rest of the evening? Because usually theaters don't show trailers for the movie you're about to watch."

"Well, I'm a strong opponent of false advertising," you say, scooting over so he has space to sit next to you. Your knees still touch and you fucking refuse to blush over something that mundane.

"Good, because the ad for this dinner promised answers."

"Forty-two."

His head whips around. "I will leap onto this ceiling and shit on your head!" he shouts, shaking a finger your direction that is miraculously not the middle finger. "It's your turn to take your role as the vulnerable party. I've already bared my embarrassing secret crush to the whole goddamn world, thanks to all the photo-happy assholes on Facebook. Find the decency somewhere in the pitch dark reaches of your soul to return the favor and turn me down."

You rub at an ear and count yourself lucky you haven't just gone deaf. "I'm not turning you down, you fucking drama queen."

He freezes. So do you. You hadn't actually meant to say that.

"What?" Karkat says, almost quietly as he studies you with a guarded stare. "Dealing out false hope is the work of the worst kind of sadist, Strider."

Terezi laughs. "Hey, no worries there. Dave's a masochist."

With your summer tan long gone, your face heats up with jackshit to hide the blush. "That is a lie that's completely untrue because she made it up. Since it's false."

She taps her fingers on the table as if she's bored. "He's gonna find out eventually, Dave."

Karkat rolls his eyes and claps you on the shoulder. "Listen, you shit-spewing nincompoop, I need you to look me in the eye and _communicate._ Successful relationships are built on a foundation of honesty and we are going nowhere if I can't trust you."

You rub your forehead. "Oh god, are we in Iowa? It's getting unbearably corny in here. I hope someone brought butter."

He stares you straight in the shades. " _Dave._ "

You moan. "I don't want to confirm I'm not attracted to men and hurt you, okay? I mean, the kiss was fucking great, and you're fucking great, but this is all new territory to me and I'm not interested in leading you wrong just because I can't read maps."

He stares at you a long moment, then relaxes, his sneer almost turning into a smirk. "Well, well, well, I guess Dave Strider has a soul after all."

"That's a dirty filthy lie," you say with an offended huff.

"He's saying he wants to date you but he's too much of a big weenie coward," Terezi says. It's a miracle she's kept her opinions to herself for this long, but you suppose there's only so long a conversation can waltz in awkward circles before she's allowed to butt in with the bluntness tango.

You might as well try to take the lead, even if you're a shit dancer. "I'm saying my brain could be fucking with me and I'm still not gay at all."

Karkat's nose wrinkles. "Obviously you're not gay. It's called bisexual, you freshwater piss trout."

"Yeah, whatever, Bro said that too." You wave him off. "Look, let's skip the label shit and focus on the fact that I'm not even single."

Karkat snorts. "People have polyamorous relationships all the time. Haven't you noticed the way my employers make gooshy eyes at that cop who comes in to the shop every day?"

You pause. That cranky cop who's such a hardass for rules that he'll yell at kids for jaywalking? You figured he had to be friends with the Cappuccino Town owners for as many times as you've bumped into him there, but seriously? "Holy shit, the ex-mayor's in a three-way?"

Karkat facepalms so hard that they can probably hear the smack all the way in Houston. "He's _poly,_ you unromantic mudball. At least call it a triad."

You should have made a point to order drinks before Karkat got here, so you could at least blame your long pauses on sipping a beverage, but this Pizza Hut's service always sucks even when they're dead quiet. That cop's been a regular at Cappuccino Town at least as long as you have. Has he been dating the owners the whole damn time with zero messy breakups? "And they make that work?" you ask.

Karkat crosses his arms and nods with a solemn air that he usually reserves for waxing poetic about the intricacies of Nicholas Sparks. "With a lot of open communication and emotional honesty."

You sigh. "And we're detouring back into Iowa. Why the fuck are we even driving through the Midwest to begin with? What the hell do they got out there worth sightseeing? Into the minivan, kids, we're off to see some cows."

He sets a firm hand on your shoulder. "Dave, I already knew I was barking up an unfathomably stupid and skittish tree. If you're genuinely interested in dating, I will accept the risk that you'll wake up in two weeks with the epiphany that you still don't like men."

You swallow. Now's the time for denials and rambling metaphors to hide your feelings, but his hand's so warm that it's melting your brain. "I'm interested, man."

He relaxes. "Then it's official? This is a date and we're going to engage in sloppy makeouts again?"

You clear your throat and straighten. "You know what, that's really up to my girlfriend."

Terezi perks up as her time has come to take center stage after sitting patiently in the chorus. "Kiss the boy! Go, go, go!" She pumps her fist.

Karkat's the one to recoil this time, his cheeks darkening. "I didn't mean right _now._ "

You snort. If you're fumbling, at least you're not alone. "Hey, the lady's spoken," you say with a smirk, sliding an arm over the top of the booth and behind him. "Are you going to be a gentleman and indulge her or not?"

He narrows his eyes and grabs you by your shirt. "Get the fuck over here and I'll show you a goddamn kiss." He jams his mouth over yours and, you can't deny, dude knows a few tricks. Maybe it's from all those stupid books he reads. Nah, that's giving them way too much credit; if he throws you onto the bed and rips your bodice open, then you'll know who to blame.

He kisses you with the fury and enthusiasm of someone who desperately wishes he could reenact a romantic scene of dubious consent with you, but he keeps the makeouts strictly at a PG rating. You don't know how a waiter hasn't interrupted this by now. Oh, right, Pizza Hut's shit service.

You pause for breath. This is not an unpleasant activity to add to your regular schedule, nope. Terezi's pushed her glasses up to watch your blurry little mash of colors go at it, her ear tilted towards you, and Karkat has the decency to look embarrassed for such blatant PDA.

You settle back with a sigh. "You sure you don't want in on this, T'z?" you ask, cocking your head towards her.

"I'm pretty sure Karkat and I would kill each other." Her toothy -- almost predatory -- grin never falters. "There's so much to enjoy as an audience member anyway." She taps her jaw. "Protip, Karkat, go for his neck. With teeth."

Karkat examines your throat with an evil glint in his eye and you're quick to slide over to your side of the booth again -- a whole three inches away.

"Hey, fancy that, we're still in public," you say, shrugging in a "Whatcha gonna do?" manner.

To your surprise, he nods in agreement. "Yeah, we actually have some dignity, Pyrope, despite our affinity for egg on our faces." The glint hasn't faded as he smirks. "I'll just remember the advice for next time."

You shiver. If you've just made a mistake, at least it'll be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOC ace fic make me the saddest. Oh well, we all write questionable, self-gratuitous stuff that's not reeeally geared for an audience when we're learning the ropes. (I'm lucky because mine was original fiction and thus never went on the Internet. My poor friends who read it, though.)
> 
> That Pizza Hut seriously sucks, even if IRL it's located in Chicago instead of the east coast. You probably _could_ makeout with a loudmouth like Karkat and the waitress would still just ignore you in the back for forty minutes.


	8. Chapter 8

In what world, exactly, did you think you had _time_ for a double relationship -- or a poly relationship, or whatever it's called? You're a fucking grad student. You have three fifteen-page papers due by mid-December. You have a professor prodding you about applying to every conference in a two hundred-mile radius. You have a webcomic that you're _trying_ not to put on fucking hiatus.

It's never been hard with Terezi; you fall asleep next to her every night, which provides plenty of openings for intimacy, both of emotional and physical varieties. Adding Karkat to the equation takes you straight from the basic algebra of relationships into calculus without a calculator. It's one thing to fall out of contact with your best bro for a month or two, but you're pretty sure that shit doesn't fly with a boyfriend.

If this was a dating sim, you'd be heading straight down the bad route where your love interest beheads you at the end. Granted, those endings are hilarious -- fuck the blandass protagonists in dating sims anyway -- but you're the one in danger this time.

Not that Karkat is actually an ax-crazy yandere girlfriend. Whatever, this is an overly dramatic metaphor.

The game screen presents you with two options at the end of class: go home early to refill your energy bar with a nap before you dig into your homework, or walk over to Cappuccino Town so you can crack open that textbook in the vicinity of your boyfriend and up his affection levels with the appropriate dialogue choices.

A long nap sounds mighty fine on a cold December day, but you can't spend your entire first month dating via Pesterchum. Besides, a fistbump with the ex-mayor is always worth the detour.

Or you could try rubbing two thoughts together. Fucking _duh_ the coffee shop is swamped during finals. You have time to exchange a wave with Karkat before he's stuck taking orders from a nonstop gaggle of undergrads.

You might as well set yourself up in a relatively quiet corner and take advantage of the external pressure to fight procrastination. You high-five the ex-mayor as he passes over your coffee, so it's not a totally wasted trip.

You stick your headphones in, put on your best "in the zone" rap, and prepare to expand your outlines into real motherfucking first drafts.

First drafts are awesome because you can write whatever stupid shit you want so long as it advances your theory. Call a famous scientist an "arrogant dickweed" when you cite him? Don't mind if you do. It keeps your attention and that's all that matters.

You're actually so engrossed that you don't even notice Karkat approach until he slams a latte on your table.

You glance up and tug off your headphones. "Hey?"

Karkat tugs off his work-mandated apron. "Guess who fucked up and used one percent instead of whole milk for my last order of the day?" He nudges your arm up and off your keyboard, then slides onto your lap, effectively straddling you as he rests his chin on your shoulder. "Congrats. Have my error on the house. It's going down the drain otherwise."

You try to settle your arm back in place, but even though you can still reach the keyboard, this positioning is so not conducive to studying. "This is not how you use a chair."

He scoffs and sits up. "Thank you for that enlightening insight. Never before had I grasped the technical nuance of chairs. I will cherish this knowledge for all of my days, as I continue to sit upon my seats in a problematic manner." He cups the back of your neck and kisses you.

You shiver and let your lips linger for as long as he holds the kiss. "This is a thing we're doing now, huh?" you say as he pulls back.

"Would you prefer we keep aloof and never display affection towards each other beyond an occasional brotherly arm around the shoulder?" He makes good on the one-armed embrace and waves his other hand slow motion through the air at an imaginary audience. "All the motherfuckers we pass will gaze in awe as they wonder whether the inspirational tight bonds on display are a product of true love or bromance."

"You say that like it's any of their business." You lounge back as coolly as you can manage with a scrawny ball of anger sitting on your lap. "I'm supposed to be a mystery to onlooking motherfuckers. It's part of my appeal."

He shoots you an unimpressed stare. "I promise you, that is approximately negative twelve percent of your appeal."

"Yeah?" You drop your chin enough to stare at him over the rim of your shades. "What else do I got going on beyond the irony, mystery, and being utterly awesome?"

His cheeks shift color as he readjusts himself on your lap. "Jesus, put me on the spot why don't you?" he mutters, crossing his arms and staring at the floor. "I don't know, you're just fun to hang around. I never have to worry that I'm blathering too much because you'll talk over me if you have to, I couldn't offend you with my crappy personality even if I tried, and at the end of the day you give a ton of fucks about people, even if you try to hide it under your bullshit coolkid persona."

"Well, when you put it like that, it almost sounds like you like me or something."

He nudges you. "Also, it's fucking hilarious to make you squirm."

You narrow your eyes. "You couldn't make me squirm if you fuckin'-" You interrupt yourself with a loud squeak as he bites your throat. Thank god the shop is busy enough probably no one heard your embarrassment over the din of music and conversations, because this is so not your preferred style of PDA.

Karkat snorts. "Please. Don't let me interrupt. Tell me all about your imperviousness to squirming," he says against your skin. "I'll just be chewing on your neck with every word of bullshit you spout."

"Are you abusing your ace card already?" You fight to keep your voice steady. Dammit, why are you putty in the face of teeth on your neck?

He leans back to look you straight in the shades. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

Goddammit, if the squeak didn't count, you're squirming now. "Because it's totally cruel. To put on a show in front of losers who can never aspire to reach our level. I'm cool with it, obviously, with my impenetrable poker face and all."

His glare softens. He cups your cheek and kisses you gently. "And there goes another dent in your stoic coolkid armor."

* * *

"You're late," Terezi calls as you trudge into the apartment at half past ten. The familiar voices of Law & Order reruns attempt to join in on her greeting, but they're cut off short as she hits the mute button.

You lean over the back of the couch to give her a peck on the cheek. "Yeah, I gave Vantas a ride home."

"Aw." She catches your head and holds you in place for a nuzzle. "Did you remember to pick up my Xanax?"

"Yep. One bottle of chill pills for Ms. Pyrope, right here," you say, rattling the CVS bag before slipping it into her hands.

"Thanks." She eases her grip on your head in exchange for the meds. "Mail's on the table."

You snort and straighten. "Awesome, we could always use more credit card offers to shred," you say, but it only takes a quick glance to spot a cardboard box sitting atop the junkmail. Did you forget a video game preorder? You step into your cramped little kitchen to check the return address and you grin. "Hey, John done sent us a care package."

"Hell yes, is he regifting his dad's cookies again?" Terezi calls.

"Only one way to find out." You nab the kitchen shears and rip through the tape so you can tug the box flaps open. You are the proud new owner of a shitton of packing peanuts -- reused packing peanuts, if you're any expert. You wipe them aside and smirk at the hand drawn Christmas card sitting atop a couple of gifts. That hand drawn wreath and "Happy holidays!" is Egbert-made, beyond a doubt, though he must have egged Bro into signing it as well. "Well, shit, looks like Christmas came early."

Terezi laughs and abandons the couch to join in on the fun. "Why the fuck didn't he just send it with your birthday present?"

"Because John is not the most logical being in Texas, which isn't a very high bar to set, but you know." You tug out a small box with Terezi's name on it and hand it to her. "Merry eighth of December."

She rips off the wrapping paper with wild abandon and turns the present over in her hands, running her fingertips over it in an attempt to identify it. "What is it?"

"Daredevil figurine," you say with barely a second glance at it. You nudge aside some more peanuts and pull out a thinner box marked for you. You let its wrapping die with a little dignity, tugging at the edges until the tape rips. "One of those butt ugly Funko things."

She grins and rips into the packaging. "Hell yes. I wonder what it tastes like?"

You have nothing to say to that. Times like this, you just let her be her and try not to think too hard on it. You have your own mystery box to pry open.

"So what'd you get from our generous benefactor?" she asks as she tugs out the figurine.

You check. "A fancyass paperweight of my own," you say, which is accurate enough, because what else do you do with a fossil that ain't worth a museum's time? It sits heavy in your palm, just small enough that you can comfortably wrap your fingers around it, and there's barely a suture on its glossy surface, let alone a scratch. "It's a pretty damn fine piece of ammonite, actually."

"Isn't that a fucking Pokemon?" She lifts her tinted glasses to examine the long-dead mollusk. "Do I see red?"

You smirk, tilting the fossil back and forth to make sure its bright red luminescence catches in the light. "Yeah, he got me a fossil that flashes red."

Her eyes light up in awe. "Is it for both of us?"

You chuckle and store the fossil back in its box for now. "I'll share."

"I love you." She kisses you and almost misses your lips. "So, no cookies?"

"Maybe that'll be this month's third package," you say, dumping out the rest of the packing peanuts for the hells of it just in case you missed a thin layer of baked goods. A book thuds against the table. "Uh..." You pick it up and the bright red graphic from Jurassic Park stares back at you.

What the shit? The spine has cracks in it and the cover's more than a little worn, but most notable of all, a sticky note is pinned to the front: "I don't know if it was an influence on you or not, but we watched this movie together a few times when you were younger. Figured you ought to read the book. Have fun with the outdated science."

It's not signed, but you recognize Bro's handwriting from all the notes he left you on the fridge.

"And my bro got me... a battered copy of Jurassic Park." You tilt your head. You've used textbooks in worse condition than this, but they weren't meant to be gifts either. Motherfucker didn't even wrap it. "Cool?"

"Aw, they got you themed gifts." Terezi gives her Funko an experimental lick, wrinkles her nose, and shakes her head. "Tell John thanks. I'm too lazy to text."

"Will do," you say, already digging out your phone. You consider sending him a quick pester and being done with it, but fuck it, today's already been about unexpected but overdue socialization. Might as well take the full plunge and dial John up. "Hey, Egbert, thanks for the loot," you say as soon as he picks up.

"Loot? What are you ta- Dammit, Strider!" John says in exasperation. "You weren't supposed to open those before Christmas!"

"Well they arrived early. What were we supposed to do with them?"

"Stick them under the Christmas tree, dummy!"

You chuckle. "It's fuckin' adorable that you think we decorate for Christmas." You pause. "Wait, Bro lets _you_ decorate the apartment for Christmas? Non-ironic-like decorations?"

John snorts and imitates your tone. "It's fucking adorable that you think he controls me. Christmastime means Christmas decorations, end of story," he says. You hear a distant thud somewhere on his end. "Hey cool, Dirk just got home. Let me pass over the phone."

You frown. "What? John, don't fucking..." You trail off when the line goes a little too quiet. "You can't hear me already. Of course you can't."

"Happy eighth of December," Bro says.

"Hey, Bro." You collapse into a kitchen chair and hold in a sigh. "Merry whatever and thanks for the book and shit."

"Yeah, let me know what you think of it," he says in an unfamiliar tone. "We can compare notes, argue which changes the movie made were for the better, discuss the homoerotic subtext between Gennaro and Muldoon."

You laugh. "I'm so here for that." You play with the frayed corner of the book. "It might wait 'til I get the doctorate done and I ain't reading two hundred pages a week, but you know, eventually."

"How's it going with the multiple lovers?" he asks.

"No regrets yet." You clear your throat. "You gave, uh. You gave good advice."

"Cool."

Your fingers twitch. You really didn't brace yourself for this. "Yeah, I was just calling to say thanks. I've got class in the morning, so..."

"Yeah, fuck off to bed," he says, his voice softening. It's so wrong. "I miss you, kid." That's even more wrong.

You should reply to that somehow. "Bye." Sure, that's the ticket. Totally not abrupt and rude. You hit the "end call" button anyway and drop the phone against the table.

Terezi taps a fingernail against the top of Daredevil's oversized head, her head tilted towards you. "Dave?"

You wipe a hand over your brow. "Yeah?"

"Do you need one of my Xanax?"

You shudder. "No. Nah. I don't think so."

She moves closer. "Do you need a hug?"

"I don't need a hug." You hug her around the middle, pressing your head against her chest. "I'll take one anyway, though, so it doesn't go to waste."

She runs her hands through your hair. "Yeah, can't let it hit expiration date."

You sigh against her, soaking in her warmth. If you ever take her for granted, someone better smack you with a lego. "Once finals are over next week, I'm taking you to the fanciest restaurant in town."

She perks up. "Olive Garden?"

"I was thinking Arby's, but sure."

She chuckles. "You spoil me so."

"What can I say? Some bitches deserve to be spoiled." You ease your grip and slide to your feet, taking her hand and holding it to your lips. "You know, you got your shit together so well it's crazy."

She pokes the tip of your nose. "You should have seen me when I was sixteen. I was so much worse than you, Strider. A total fucking mess of angst and self-loathing." She grins. "On the upside, I got my drama out as a teenager."

You nuzzle her hand. "Hey, if anyone here deserves to be a fully functional adult, it's definitely you."

* * *

"What the fuck is this?" Karkat says as he stares disdainfully at your offering.

You raise it to eye level for examination, turning it over and upside down as if you're in careful thought over his quandary. "Well, it's a box covered in snowman-coated wrapping paper... so I gotta assume it's a package from the Tooth Fairy."

He slaps his hand over his forehead and sinks against your couch. "Oh my god, where did your pea-sized brain get the impression I celebrate Christmas?"

You cock your head and rest your feet on the coffee table because you're too damn cheap to buy a proper ottoman. "The fact you live in America where it's a national holiday that snags you a free day off work, which by happy coincidence is a day that takes place post-finals."

He points a finger at your face and draws himself up. "It's a religious holiday from a religion I've never been and never will be a part of."

You snort. "Yeah, and don't I look Christian? Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy sick beats." You run your hand over an imaginary holy turntable to solidify your heresy.

Karkat groans and throws his head back. "Jesus Christ, you're oblivious!"

"Oh, so you'll say our lord's name in vain, but you won't celebrate his birthday."

He drags his fingers down his face and grimaces. "This isn't fucking difficult, you fungus-mouthed walnut. Just don't waste your fucking money on me for a holiday that's driven me up the goddamn wall since childhood."

You sigh and toss the package onto the coffee table. "Okay, whatever, I'll save it for your birthday."

"Fair warning in case you forgot," Terezi says as she returns from the kitchen with a steaming mug in hand, "he's a Gemini."

You frown, scooting over so she doesn't drop near-boiling liquid on you as she finds a spot on the couch. "What?" you say in unison with Karkat.

She shrugs and blows on her drink -- she somehow tracked down pastel pink goddamn cocoa which you have thus far refused to even sip because that just ain't natural. "I only remember because Aradia made a big hubbub because she couldn't believe he wasn't a Cancer."

You exchange a confused glance with Karkat to make sure you're not missing something obvious here. "Okay, but what the fuck does that have to do with anything? Are we getting into fortune telling? Are Geminis doomed to never receive birthday presents?"

"They're both June zodiacs," she says flatly. "I'm saying he was born in June."

"What?" You groan and retrieve the present. It's all carefully wrapped and shit and everything, even if the paper bunches up on the ends. "Can we say it's a Channukah present? You can't scoff at Channukah well wishes or else you're racist probably."

Karkat crosses his arms, narrows his eyes, and keeps a steady glare on you. "Name _three things_ about Channukah."

You frown. "There are candles and... there's no ham... and it's awesome!" You hold the present out to him and fully expect him to slap it from your hand. "Happy Wednesday, all right?"

His eyes remain narrowed, but he finally takes the box. "I'll accept Wednesday presents."

You chuckle and settle back against the couch, wrapping both arms around your girlf- boyfrie- What the fuck is the gender-neutral term for dating partners? You put one arm around Karkat's shoulders and the other around Terezi's. "I'll remember that next time I see something cool I wanna buy for you. No Christmas, only Wednesdays. My gift-giving opportunities have just skyrocketed, man."

He stares down at the bright colored paper and fiddles with the tape, not actually opening it. "Sorry for blowing up at you," he mutters, lowering his head. "I know you're trying to be fucking thoughtful and shit, while I'm just an ungrateful douchebag of a boyfriend who yells at you for being your usual oblivious self."

You nudge your shoulder against his. "Not gonna pretend I understand what got you worked up, but don't lose any sleep over it, dude," you say. "Merry Wednesday that we just happen to have free from work and school."

He snorts. "Jackass." He leans over to give you a soft kiss. "Merry stupid national holiday I don't celebrate to you, too."

* * *

You understand nothing.

That's usually a comfort: no guilt, no worries, just gliding through life without a care about all the deep shit other people go through.

You have deep shit though. You don't even know how deep it goes because other people keep excavating it and, whoops, what looked like the bottom is just a shadow. You're gonna need to bring more rope if you want to get to the end of the cave structure known as your issues.

Emotional spelunking sucks ass, but it's better than fucking up your boyfriend's cave.

His emotional cave system, that is. You're still on the "cave = deep brain shit" metaphor. That wasn't dirty. Dammit, that was totally dirty.

Why is it so hard to concentrate on research during winter break? You just stare at the screen and space off or, even worse, refresh Tumblr.

You understand nothing, but maybe you're not going to get your head back in the game until you try.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 19:11 --

TG: ok i give up   
TG: i need help   
TT: It's about damn time. Let me set up my office chair and get my clipboard in order... Now, how about you lie down and begin by telling me about your childhood?   
TG: well ysee doc it turns out im part gay   
TT: Oh my. This is even more serious than I thought.   
TG: yeah and my boyfriend is this loud dude from some middle eastern country i forget the name of   
TT: Pakistan.   
TG: gesundheit   
TT: And it's in Asia, you racist fuck.   
TG: yeah dont worry he knows about that already   
TG: but anyway he grew up muslim and hes atheist or whatever now but sometimes we get this culture clash   
TG: and i think im an asshole to him   
TG: not that im usually a saint or anything   
TT: You mean you're problematic? I never noticed. I shall weep that another fave has fallen.   
TG: look we both know i dont give a shit if im offensive   
TG: im less of a fan of hurting my boyfriends feelings due to wacky misunderstandings though   
TG: i cant even tell when ive said crap thats legit Not Funny because i cant fucking relate   
TG: and then i start thinking too much   
TG: and i dunno it just hammers home how fucking little i know about my moms side of the family   
TG: karkat and i cant even trade awkward stories about growing up under a religion we dont agree with so obviously i dont get it when hes having a hissyfit over cultural baggage   
TT: You wish to be closer to your maternal roots so you can establish common ground with your Pakistani boyfriend?   
TG: idk   
TG: it sounds dumb when you put it like that   
TG: maybe this is just related to a longing for a bullshit childhood i never got or whatever   
TG: god knows i think about it often enough   
TG: not that you need to know that   
TG: you know what forget i said that   
TT: Actually, I suspect you're just not used to having a Cultural Identity. Don't worry. It loses its magic after a while and just becomes a dull facet of your life that's only surprising to outsiders.   
TG: youd know that how exactly   
TT: Lesbian. Raised by a single mother. Jewish.   
TT: Sometimes it comes up when other people notice, but in my own little head, all of that is as commonplace as saying "hey, the sky's blue."   
TG: so youre prescribing me time to counteract all this sick fretting im doing   
TT: No, of course not. Time is an over-the-counter medication. You can get it just fine without my prescription.   
TT: But seriously, give this another six months, two years maximum and you'll wonder how you ever got so hung up over such a small detail. Don't you remember my "I'm SO GAY, you guys!!" teen phase?   
TG: ugh cant we speed up the process   
TG: work some psychotherapy cheat code to skip over a few levels so i can face the big boss fight and be done with this   
TG: tell me about jewish stuff so i can just know everything about it already and it stops taunting me   
TT: You want me to tell you everything there is to being Jewish?   
TG: yes exactly and then the gay stuff so that goes away too   
TT: Well, gee, you ask for so little.   
TT: Setting aside that you just asked me to provide you with a complete overview of the history and culture and texts of a religion that's thousands of years old...   
TT: In all honesty, my family is only Jewish in name.   
TT: We celebrate both Christmas and Channukah, for no particular reason besides that Mom thinks more holidays are fun.   
TG: didnt you go on a trip to israel for jewish teens to learn their heritage or whatever   
TT: You think I'd turn down an opportunity to travel abroad over little details like "non-practicing"?   
TT: I'm still not the best person to turn to if you want to know the deets on our cultural customs. We really don't give a shit about sticking to religious tradition in this household.   
TG: well shit ok   
TG: guess im at googles mercy   
TT: Oh, except Mom throws our bread out the window in a panic every time she realizes it's Passover. So we follow that tradition, I suppose.   
TG: hahaha for real   
TG: i think i know someone who does that too   
TT: I could believe Terezi would do it. She's not secretly Jewish too, is she?   
TG: nah man i dont think i know this guy that well tbh   
TG: like i cant even remember who it was off the top of my head   
TG: actually i think that storys secondhand   
TG: who the fuck told me about   
TG: uh   
TT: What? Did your memory play tricks on you and you've only been visited by deja vu?   
TG: maybe kinda not really   
TG: its just   
TG: thats exactly what bro said about   
TG: how old is your mom again   
TT: You realize it's rude to ask a lady's age, right?   
TG: yeah wow im the rudest let me just go sit in the corner until i give a fuck   
TG: whoops no fucks given what a shame   
TG: so is she like 37   
TG: 38   
TG: basically would she have been in high school 23 years ago or is she older than that like normal peoples parents   
TT: So now you're trying to ask if my mother was a teen parent, at which point she'd fail to be a "normal person's parent."   
TG: yes exactly   
TG: im establishing a timeline here lalonde trying to set my paranoia straight so it stops trying to latch onto weird shit   
TG: wait were only one fucking day apart in age so the timeline already doesnt add up   
TT: Unless there were twins.   
TG: yeah unless there

You stop typing, letting your half-finished sentence rot where you accidentally hit Enter too soon.

Rose's mom is nominally Jewish and freaks out over bread on Passover. Your mom is nominally Jewish and freaks out over bread on Passover.

Rose's mom got knocked up in high school. Your mom got knocked up in high school.

Rose was born on December 4th. You were born December 3rd, the same fucking year.

Twins.

TG: YOU FUCKING KNEW   
TT: Well, that's an abrupt and contextless accusation.   
TT: Knew what, exactly?   
TG: you know damn fucking well WHAT lalonde   
TG: omg i used to flirt with you   
TG: omfg you let me flirt you with and you didnt say a damn word wtf is wrong with you   
TT: Just double-checking before I spoil anything: Is this conversation still about how you're totes gay?   
TG: no!!!!   
TT: Cool, then I'm safe to respond thusly...   
TT: Hi, big brother!

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] blocked tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

Not only did your safety harness snap in this emotional spelunking session, but you're pretty sure you landed right on a stalagmite. And this cave could still go down for miles.

You stand up, stumble over to your bed, smash your face into your pillow, and scream until you run out of air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say he's taking it well. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. The brain weasels got me, and my anxiety has had one heck of a bad flare up. I keep wanting to say "eh, it should calm down soon," but it's been extra pesky this time around. S-someday I'll tackle that inbox again...

"Do I have a sister?"

The other line goes dead silent for so long that you're about to assume Bro hung up before he says, " _What._ "

You glance at the bedroom door and lower your voice -- the coast is clear so far, but Terezi has _killer_ hearing and this is not how you want to break the news to her. "You heard me. 'Fess up on the secret sister."

"Dave, what the shit did you take and how long is the detox?" Bro says.

You pace back and forth by the foot of the bed because you have the pent-up energy of a small child who just had to spend all morning sitting still in church after ingesting a dozen donuts. You gotta walk off that sugar high somehow or you're gonna make the pastor glare at you. "Just answer the question, old man."

Bro sighs. "I can't guarantee that you don't have a half-sibling out there somewhere, but I'm a sperm donor to precisely one kid and that kid is you, bro," he says without even trying to hide his exasperation. He gives his words extra enunciation as he continues, "Listen, go find Terezi, tell her you're having a bad trip, and sit in a quiet room 'til it passes."

You stumble to a halt. "I'm not... I..." Is it worse that you're such a mess that he thinks you're on drugs, or that you're such a mess that he actually sounds concerned?

"It'll be okay, li'l bro," he says with uncharacteristic softness. "Just chill."

You slouch over and press your forehead against the wall. "I'm like a hundred degrees over chilling temperature right now, ain't I?" you say flatly.

"Hey, everyone's AC busts now and then. Just make sure you've got a competent repairman if it's not turning back on like it should. I don't want to hear you got hospitalized from overheating."

You groan. "I'm fine, Bro. I..." You catch your breath and hold it for five seconds. "I didn't take anything dangerous." Well, you didn't.

"Glad to hear it," he says, though you wouldn't know it as his tone returns to form. "Seriously though, go tell your girlfriend what you took and that it made you hella paranoid, then try to sober up. This shit isn't agreeing with you."

You roll your eyes. "I'll keep that in mind."

"I'm going to check in on you in an hour. Is that cool?"

You drag your forehead across the wall as you straighten. "Yeah, sure, just shoot me a text and I'll confirm I'm not dead."

"Sounds like a plan. Take care of yourself, Dave."

"It's what I do." You hit the end call button before the farewell can drag out into a "who can swallow more of their own foot?" competition. Bro already thinks you're as high as Timothy Leary's ghost.

Well, that sleuthing attempt gave you more questions than answers, but what else is new? Bro's a lunatic, but you don't think he'd lie to you about this, not when you've already gathered up the evidence and made the deduction on your own. If he didn't want you to know shit, he'd plant false leads instead of playing dumb.

Maybe Rose was just tugging your leg for a laugh. Making you lose your cool is her favorite hobby, right after pretentious poetry and Dumbledore/Gandalf fanfic.

Except she didn't know that Bro told you about your mom's aversion to Passover bread. The only way she could have planned out a conspiracy this deep is if she was in cahoots with John, and his pranks aren't this mean or clever. If they ever team up, the worst you can expect is a bucket full of yaoi wizard fanart dropping on your head.

At least it wasn't a total waste of an awkward phonecall: Bro managed to knock your head back on your shoulders. You gotta pull up short and calm your crazy bread if you're coming off so hysterical that even Dirk motherfucking Strider shows concern.

"So my bro thinks I'm on drugs now," you say as you step out of the bedroom.

Terezi's lounging on the couch, listening to an audio book if her mp3 player is any indicator, but she sits up and pops out the earphones to say, "You are way too uptight to be on drugs."

"I have every right to be uptight." You leap over the back of the couch and land next to her. "Rose is a fucking troll, did you know that?"

Terezi snorts. "I'm pretty sure she's a human."

"I dunno, I can see her living under a bridge and chomping down on billy goats, when she's not busy taunting her friends with crazy bullshit." You cross your arms and settle into the corner of the couch. "She said I'm her twin brother," you mutter.

Terezi's glasses are askew enough that you can see her eyes widening behind them. "Holy shit. All this time I just thought I was racist, but you two really _do_ look alike."

"You're _blind._ "

"You're both pink blobs with short mops of yellow on top." She smirks and bats at your bangs. "Okay, yellow and silver in your case."

You facepalm and groan. "That proves nothing. None of this fucking adds up. Bro doesn't even know about her."

Terezi strokes her chin as if grooming an invisible goatee. "The plot thickens."

You slide your hand down your face. "You are taking this news way too fucking calmly."

"My bad." She flops over into your lap and throws an arm over her face. "Say it ain't so, Strider! Anything but this!" she wails.

"You mock my angst," you say in your best deadpan.

She smirks. "Better than joining in." She squirms up to sit in your lap properly, making herself comfortable. "Fine, so that's pretty insane even by your easily frazzled standards. Now what?"

"What?"

She nudges you. "Do you want to binge on ice cream? Or we could read bad fanfic. You know you love doing voices with the bad punctuation."

"And the misspellings." You aren't really sure if you just laughed or sighed, but it sure was a breathy sound that came out of your mouth. "Gotta voice out the misspellings for the full authentic experience."

"Diamonds Droog got on one knee, held out the ring, and pooped the question," Terezi says with a fond smile.

You hold a hand over your heart. "We will never find a greater gem in all the mines of badfic, but we'll die trying. That diamond may have been one of a kind, but I guess all the emeralds and sapphires we excavate instead can tide us over."

"Fuck those, I want ruby."

"Fine, we'll dump the sapphires and emeralds in lava." You jam a thumb over your shoulder. "Go grab your pickaxe and we can hop in the cart."

She perks up. "What's my pickaxe a metaphor for?"

You shrug. "I dunno. Popcorn?"

She tilts her head, brow furrowed in thought, before nodding. "That is an acceptable and delicious answer, half-assed though it may be." She crawls out of your lap so she can journey to the kitchen for expedition supplies.

Hey, roping you into reading badfic is better than assuming you ate funny mushrooms. You could use a mean-spirited distraction.

You tug out your phone so you can leisurely select your poison, since Terezi's bound to take a few minutes. She makes some meanass popcorn, but it requires actual prep time compared to the microwaveable garbage you grew up on -- apparently, her household likes to throw kernels in a pot and watch them explode. Well, you sure watched them explode the first two dozen times Terezi cooked them, until the novelty wore off.

There's something soothing about browsing FanFiction.Net and its simple layout. Here there be trash, but it's earnest, innocent, lovingly crafted trash and you can relate to that irony.

Before you can even select a fandom, Pesterchum interrupts you and plasters itself over your screen like a needy dog that hasn't seen you in a week.

\-- ghostyTrickster [GT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 20:39 --

GT: are you ok?   
TG: am i not supposed to be ok   
TG: wait did rose tell you   
GT: noooo...?   
GT: what is rose supposed to tell me?   
GT: you didn't get her pregnant, did you? :P   
TG: NO JESUS CHRIST   
GT: whoa, chill, dog. it's called a joooooooke. jeeeez.   
GT: i am known to make them sometimes!   
GT: i am a trickster like that and i must live up to my username or change it in shame!   
GT: i am carefully explaining the obvious because i am beginning to suspect that dirk may have been onto something.   
TG: gdi   
TG: what exactly is bro onto   
GT: you have gone against all of our childhood PSAs and experimented with drugs.   
TG: at this point i kinda wish i were on drugs   
GT: dave, no!!! what would bugs bunny say??   
TG: who the hell is a cartoon rabbit to judge me   
TG: he was probably high as a kite 24/7   
TG: where do you think his constant case of the carrot munchies came from   
GT: childhood fucking ruined. >:(   
TG: consider it delayed payback for ruining a perfectly good bottle of aj   
GT: pfffft, i did what?   
TG: you know what im talking about   
TG: grade seven   
TG: or eight   
TG: or uh   
TG: look we were like thirteen idk what fucking grade that is i was home schooled   
TG: the point is you taunted me with threats of howie mandel pissing in my aj   
GT: hahahahaha, dude, how do you even remember that?? are you telling me you seriously thought your juice had turned into piss because of little monsters?   
GT: jeez, you've always been so paranoid. maybe dirk IS just overreacting.   
GT: i mean, it's not like he knows you very well. SIGH.   
TG: news at eleven   
GT: he IS worried about you, though.   
GT: he's doing the thing where he keeps checking his phone like his fingers are itching to send fifty texts in two minutes.   
GT: except he probably knows i'd break his damn phone if he tries that again.   
TG: again   
GT: haha, yeah, that was noooot a fun evening.   
GT: anyway, if he starts bombarding you with TOO MANY GODDAMN MESSAGES, let me know and i'll get out the hammer.   
TG: im not convinced ill get any messages but whatever   
TG: dont take that as an invite to pressure him into it or anything btw   
GT: *eyeroll* yes, that is a thing i would do.   
GT: i am the naggiest boyfriend. it is me.   
TG: thats right admit to your sins   
TG: confessions in session   
TG: pour out those transgressions   
TG: cos listenings my profession   
GT: oh hell no, this is a rap-free zone starting right now!   
GT: i have been to college and passed literature classes, strider! you can't fool me anymore! i know that your meter SUCKS!   
TG: chill on the aggression   
TG: dont stifle my expression   
GT: you and dirk are why white guy rappers are a joke. just so you know that.   
TG: our influence does reach pretty far   
TG: were like a pair of film stars   
TG: except we forgot to learn to like caviar   
GT: ok, ok, you win! i cannot take any more forced shitty rhymes!!!   
GT: i will stop pestering you about dirk. sorryyyy for being worried about my best bro, jeez.   
TG: its cool dude   
TG: you got me in a better mood   
TG: jumping ship now aint rude   
GT: AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH

\-- ghostyTrickster [GT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 20:58 --

TG: ok that was a little rude

At least you don't have to talk about Bro anymore.

"I ate half the popcorn," Terezi says, patting the buttery and steaming remains sitting at the bottom of a bowl. Damn, you noticed her settling next to you, but time flies when you're trying to get out of an awkward Internet conversation.

"That's fair," you say. You did just make her wait half an hour; she deserves to partake in the fruits of her labor. Wait, right, you were supposed to be looking for badfic. You'll just grab the first Hearts Boxcar/Lord English fic you can find -- dumb crackpairs make for the best dumb crackfic.

Half an hour into a "noncon, but not tagged noncon, because it's twu wuv and that can't be noncon, right?" badfic, Pesterchum interrupts your Internet browsing once more.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 21:33 --

TT: You doing better, kid?   
TG: im out of the woods

* * *

"Happy Wednesday."

"Happy New Year, you vainglorious douchefuck," Karkat says so loudly that you hold your phone a good inch from your ear to prevent going deaf. On bad days, you hold it two inches away.

"Yeah, yeah, here's to a solid two months of writing the wrong goddamn date on every assignment," you say. "Wanna come over and watch me and Terezi burn down the kitchen in our quest to cook our very own pizza? The failed concoctions get hurled into Mount Doom."

"I'm still in pajamas and I haven't bathed. Unless you want to bear witness to the grease pit that is my hair and the foul stench infesting the air known as my body odor..."

"I've been to Aradia's anime club," you say flatly. "No lack of hygiene can faze me anymore." Not that it's Aradia's fault that her fellow geeks are disgusting, but seriously, your nose will never be the same.

Karkat actually laughs. "I'm still taking a shower before I set foot outside regardless of your dangerously low standards."

"Well, we're making enough pizzas that you'll probably see at least one go into the oven. Hope you're ready for Taco Bell, because I'm not counting on concocting anything edible here."

"Relief and jubilation!" Karkat says. "Diarrhea with my boyfriend is exactly how I wanted to spend the first day of the new year."

"Hell yeah, that's how we celebrate a holiday we both actually like together." You tap your fist against your thigh in a poor attempt to redirect some nervous energy. You try to bite your tongue, at least wait until you're face-to-face to drop the subject, but you still blurt out, "Hey, Vantas, if you had an opportunity to learn more about your mom's side of the family, would you take it?"

"Fuck no," he says without missing a beat. "It's bad enough I know as much as I do about my sperm donor's side of the family. I will take my honorary orphan badge and wear it proudly on my kiddie camper handysash. Why? Is your dick of a bio-father taunting you with new info again?"

You rub your forehead. "Nah, just been dealing with some shit. I don't want to talk about it over the phone."

"Will you talk about it in-person?"

You smile bitterly. "It's anyone's guess. Better talk to the bookie if you want to get a bet in early, because they've all got decent odds today."

Karkat huffs. "Whatever. I'll be there in two hours."

"Just text me and I'll come pick you up, dumbass."

"Fine, do what you want, you pushy sack of toenail puss. I guess I'll be there in an hour then, provided you aren't fucking late!" He hangs up without even a good-bye.

You lower your phone, hold it in front of you, and count to ten. You only reach nine when it vibrates.

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 10:37 --

CG: OH GOD, I DIDN'T MEAN THAT.   
CG: I FAILED TO EXPRESS THIS HARDER THAN I FAILED MY C++ CLASS, BUT I APPRECIATE THE RIDE AND I'M AMAZED YET RELIEVED THAT YOU WANT TO SEE MY UGLY MUG TO RING IN YOUR NEW YEAR.   
CG: I'M SORRY I'M A SUCH JACKASS.   
TG: hey its cool   
TG: have an ironic emoticon if itll help get your panties out of their wad   
TG: <3   
CG: <3   
TG: was that return emoticon also ironic   
CG: SHUT UP, STRIDER.

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 10:38 --

At least some things remain as predictable as ever.

That gives you an hour to kill before the pizza party really gets started. You could knock out a video from your Hulu queue while you wait, maybe two if the ads don't hate you.

You flop into your computer chair, hit up your Hulu bookmark, and find yourself thwarted. What the fuck did Hulu do to its layout? Where is everything? Never goddamn mind, you are so not in the mood for navigating a shitty website "upgrade" today. You've got better things to do, probably.

You switch over to your Pesterchum window on automatic, but no one's online now that Karkat's gone. Rose is usually on this time of day... Oh, right, she probably _is_ online and you just can't see it because you blocked her.

You rest your chin in your hand.

Karkat gave you a logical verdict, so why does every fiber of your brain send out a "nope, wrong, try again" signal? It's like you asked someone whether you ought to grab Mexican or Chinese for lunch, and you were so sure you were indifferent on the answer until they said "go for the Chinese, man." It's only when you're faced with the prospect of actually committing to Chinese that you realize that a burrito is all you want in life.

You take a deep breath and hit the unblock button.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 10:42 --

TG: so i might have overreacted   
TT: You don't say?   
TG: but you could have not ripped that reveal off like an old bandaid over a gaping wound i didnt even know i had   
TG: shit stings   
TT: Well, you DID ask to learn more about your heritage...   
TG: i wanted to know what the little black hats are for and what oy gevalt actually means   
TG: not that i have a twin sister   
TG: a twin sister that not even our biodad knows exists   
TT: Ah, so you've been sleuthing.   
TT: Is that why it took you so long to calm down enough to unblock me?   
TG: maybe   
TG: or maybe i was making you wallow in silence as punishment for your goddamn sins   
TT: I meant to tell you... eventually.   
TT: The funny thing is, once you don't introduce yourself as someone's long-lost sister, it's a little awkward to bring it up later.   
TG: oh my god this is it   
TG: this is why you contacted me out of goddamn nowhere when we were ten   
TT: You were the one stupid enough to use your full name on your deviantART profile where I could easily find you.   
TG: i was starting a brand i couldnt use a shitty fake name that id drop later   
TG: you could have fucking told me why you were contacting me instead of pretending to have any interest in my crappy ms paint art   
TT: I wanted to be sure you were really my long-lost brother first.   
TT: Besides, would you have even believed that a random Internet stranger shared a relation with you?   
TG: i probably would have thought you were a troll and played along for shits and giggles   
TG: so no   
TG: theres probably no way you could have convinced me you werent yanking my chain until i pieced it together on my own   
TG: fuck   
TT: That's what I was assuming too. You were more likely to figure it out on your own than to believe me. Even though it took you thirteen years.   
TG: god damn this is fucked up   
TG: how the hell can bro not even know about this   
TT: Mom never told him I exist, that's how.   
TG: what   
TG: wtf is wrong with your mom   
TT: You were witness to my worst teenaged brattiness. I think you've heard plenty of rants on my mother's many aggravating traits.   
TG: yeah but that was you just misreading her coddling as passive aggression because PROJECTION   
TG: what kind of asshole just   
TG: doesnt tell a dude he fathered TWO brats and not just one   
TT: The kind of asshole who used to be a scared and overwhelmed fifteen-year-old girl.   
TG: it was still a dick move   
TT: Oh, I'm not saying that she did the right thing, not by a fucking mile.   
TT: But I can at least sympathize.   
TG: well yeah you carried on the family legacy of secrecy   
TT: My mother deserves a little more leeway than I do though.   
TG: how fuckin so   
TG: at least you can claim victimhood in this charade shes the bigwig in charge of it   
TT: Humor me for a moment.   
TT: Imagine that you're fourteen and pregnant.   
TG: oh jesus no im not imagining that   
TT: Please save all comments for after the show.   
TT: As I was saying, you're a fourteen-year-old girl and you fucked your best friend two months ago when he stupidly tried to pretend he was straight. You haven't had your period since then.   
TG: stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop   
TT: Sorry, I should use more sensitive language.   
TT: YOUR VAGINA HASN'T HAD BLOOD COME OUT OF IT IN TOO LONG, so you give in and buy a pregnancy test from Walgreens. It's positive. Congratulations, you're fourteen and pregnant and the father is your gay best friend.   
TG: oh god   
TT: Exactly.   
TT: Your gay best friend is even more devastated than you are. His cocky and confident demeanor fades in favor of sulking. You're racked with guilt every time you see him.   
TT: Your parents find out after a few months and they take you for your first proper exam. The ultrasound shows twins. One boy and one girl.   
TT: You can't handle two children. You're only going to be fifteen by your due date and your parents don't have the finances for all three of you.   
TT: The first thing you tell your best friend is that you're pregnant with a boy and you're putting him up for adoption. You thought he'd be relieved. To your shock, he wants custody.   
TT: You're so desperate at this point that you agree to hand over all rights for your son without argument.   
TT: You don't tell your friend about the daughter yet. You're afraid it'll break him. He hasn't found out even by the time he first holds his son in his arms.   
TT: You know you'll have to tell him soon, before he inevitably finds out on his own, and you wait for the least stressful opportunity to dump it on him.   
TT: You wait too long. Without warning, he drops out of school and never contacts you again.   
TT: Your parents move to a new state a few months later, so the missing father of your children becomes moot. You raise your daughter by yourself and try to forget your son.   
TT: The end. You can let your imagination take a rest and grab a bottle of Gatorade. Good workout!   
TG: oh my god   
TT: Sorry, Dave. It's been a confusing ride for me too.   
TG: our parents are so fucked up   
TT: Mm, and they did their best to pass that trait onto their children, from what I can tell.   
TG: youre seriously my sister   
TT: As we've established.   
TG: my LITTLE SISTER   
TT: Do you need to lie down?   
TG: i   
TG: dont even   
TG: i cant   
TG: i fuckin   
TG: yeah probably   
TT: Then go sort your thoughts. First though...   
TT: Promise me a really, really selfish favor on my part?   
TG: what   
TT: Don't tell our father?   
TT: I'm... not sure I'm ready to face him yet.   
TG: fuck   
TG: im barely in contact with him anyway but   
TG: yeah i get it   
TG: if i have the opportunity to ruin the surprise ill hold off   
TT: Thank you.   
TG: does mom know   
TG: that you found me   
TT: No.   
TT: Do you want me to tell her?   
TG: idk im in the same boat i need to really brace myself for that kinda shit so i dont capsize and fall overboard without a life vest   
TG: if i ever face it properly in the first place   
TG: this is a nice boat yknow   
TT: The S.S. Denial is a gorgeous boat.   
TG: yeah   
TG: ngl rose   
TG: as much as i want to scream at this whole shindig   
TG: youre probably the coolest blood relation i have right now   
TT: That's not exactly a difficult feat.   
TG: nope its not

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 11:39 --

Wait, you can't fucking lie down; you're supposed to pick up Karkat. You flop back against your mattress anyway. Are you in any condition to drive? Should you reschedule? You just got the revelation of a lifetime, so shouldn't you, like, make good on your threat to scream?

You're tired of losing your chill though. It's like your stress has peaked and is slowly climbing its way down the mountain. Mostly you just want a nap, except that is one hell of a dull way to ring in the new year.

Rose is your little sister. One of your oldest and closest friends is blood family.

You know what, Karkat sounds good right about now. You climb to your feet.

Terezi's already gotten started in the kitchen, littering the counter with ingredients as she throws together the first pie. She's a slightly better cook than you, but that doesn't take much when your method boils down to "just throw shit together and hope it doesn't taste like barf in the end." She actually pays attention to the smells that come together as she mixes it. Sometimes her taste in ingredients leans a touch questionable, though.

"Dave, I'm putting marshmallows on the pizza," she calls, ripping open a bag of mini marshmallows.

You glance down at the marinara sauce, shredded cheese, and sausage chunks already sitting on the raw dough. "As you do." You jingle your keys. "I'm picking up my boyfriend."

"As you do," she echoes, sticking her tongue out the side of her mouth in concentration as she drops careful handfuls of sugar and gelatin onto the pizza.

You shoot a "be there in ten" text to Karkat as you move for the door. You stop with your hand on the doorknob and look over your shoulder. "Hey," you say. "Are you and I family?"

Terezi lifts her glasses to squint at you from over the window into the kitchenette. "You really need me to answer that after five years, coolkid?"

You let your hand drop, stride back to her, and pull her into a soft kiss. You can taste the mozzarella she's been eating straight out of the bag, along with a hint of marshmallow.

Yeah. That was a dumbass question if ever you asked one.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear AO3, I would <3 you muchly if you added some sorta status update thing-y that lets me note "I'm still alive and none of my fic are abandoned! I'm sorry about the wait; Real World Events are terrible and distracting me" so that readers can know what's up without checking my Tumblr. I know that's probably a big feature to implement, but give it a think when you have a moment, maybe, if it's not too much trouble?
> 
> Ahem. *sheepish wave* Long time, no see. Let's get this chapter started already, eh? ...Wait, I have to write a sex scene? That can't possibly be story-relevant, can it? It can?! Uh. Okay, here comes the most T-rated sex scene ever, I guess.

What did you even do with your limited freetime before you were dating Karkat?

You probably watched shitty movies and had a good time, actually, but your life wasn't jerking you around with dumb family drama back then. Nowadays, whenever you finish your homework before Terezi, you'd... Actually, you'd still watch shitty movies, but y'know what, dates are hella better distractions from introspective thoughts than Horror at Party Beach is.

Why the hell are you flat on your back though? You've got two datemates who are significantly smaller than you and they both have a knack for sweeping you off your feet. Karkat ranges over you, his knees digging into the couch cushions on either side of your hips, as he cups the back of your neck.

You could push him away if you wanted, but hey, sometimes you gotta throw your boyfriend a bone when he's throwing you a boner. You're a generous guy like that.

You brush your lips against his ear and whisper, "Is that your cell phone or are you just happy to see me?"

He tugs your hair just enough to make you wince. "You have the sense of humor of an overflown toilet, Strider," he says through gritted teeth, his signature glare almost comical from three inches away.

You smirk. "I am the funniest dude this side of Adam Sandler."

"Shut up before you kill the mood with your godawful cultural references," Karkat says, as if 50 First Dates isn't totally on his DVD shelf.

"Eh, it's probably too late for th-" Your final syllable takes a detour down Karkat's throat as he seals his mouth around yours. You aren't even surprised by this technique anymore. It sure as hell won't be the last time he silences you with a kiss.

You run your hands down his sides. Dudes are so flat and boring. His hips have no curve and there are no convenient hand-holds on his chest. Karkat's skin is rough and his frame is surprisingly solid for how tiny he is. He smells musky and familiar and... kinda peppery, of all things. Terezi's natural scent gets covered up by baby powder or citrus deodorant, but it's hard to imagine pepper-scented cologne as a thing that exists.

Touching Terezi is like exploring new territory, but with Karkat it's more like you're a kid playing explorer in your backyard. (Not that you've ever had a backyard, but you get the gist of the concept.) Does he feel the same way about you, or are bi dudes used to fondling replicas of themselves? He sure knows how to hone in on your sensitive spots like a fucking sniper.

You communicate through touch because sometimes words are redundant, especially when your tongue is busy acquainting itself with another tongue and it's just rude to cut the introductions short. He slides a hand up your shirt and you raise your torso to meet it; he grinds his palm against your chest. You drag your fingers down his back and he moans into your mouth; you add a little nail to the next round.

His fingers tug at your jeans button, letting it slip out of grasp just before it can come undone, then tugging at it again. The "is now an okay time to finally go for it?" goes unspoken, but he might as well have screamed it.

You translate "what are you fucking waiting for?" by grabbing his face and diving your tongue as far up his throat as it can reach. He gets the message.

If you can set aside the snarky banter and obligatory "it's not that I like you or anything, b-baka" for a moment, he is damn good with his hands. Probably because he knows exactly how your plumbing works and what to do with it for max results. You're not going to act like Terezi's never given you a better handjob, but this has to be in the top ten and that's not fucking shabby.

You melt into the couch afterwards like a snowman trying to survive the Houston summer. He pets your hair -- wow, thanks, now you _really_ need to shower off the sex -- and kisses you softly. Fuck, this is uncool. You're all ready to get sexy with him, not to get vulnerable with him. It ain't polite to take without giving a little back, right?

All it takes is setting a hand on his hip and he gets the idea, letting you flip your positions and climb over him. You plunge your fingers into his jeans and, for the first time in your life, you touch a dick other than your own.

You snatch your hand back. This is not how you're supposed to feel when you finally get to do the do with your datemate. "Holy shit still straight," you say without a pause for breath, your eyes going wide.

He raises his head, his brow creased in annoyed confusion. "What?"

You swing your legs off him and over the side of the couch so you can sit up properly. "My heterosexuality just crashed down on me like an avalanche." You hold you head in your hands. "I think I need a minute to find a shovel and dig myself out."

Karkat groans and pulls a face as if he just walked into a bathroom fresh after a hobo used it. "Oh my god, don't tell me. This is where we finally catch up on the internalized homophobia and you go into denial that bisexuality is even a thing," he says in a sarcastic sing-song, yanking his fly back up.

You shake your head. Bisexuality can be a thing all it wants; the denial came from believing it could be a thing for _you._ "Dude, for real, I'm trying to be all open-minded and adventurous about my sexuality here, like I'm ready to have my whole world thrown on its head in a shower of gay rainbows, but instead I'm trapped under all this goddamn snow, because the thing is, sticking my hand down Terezi's pants is hot but sticking my hand down your pants is not."

"And you only just now noticed this?" he asks, staring at you like you never realized that stoves burn skin on contact.

You shrug. "I warned you when we got started that my feelings towards dick fell under uncharted territory." So fucking sue you that you've never touched a stove.

"We've been dating over two goddamn months!" he shouts so loud it's a wonder his head doesn't explode in a mushroom cloud. The neighbors are probably going to file a noise complaint, if they're home. "You couldn't be assed to update me on the fact you've felt _jackshit_ all this time?"

"I couldn't exactly map this shit out when I never had direct contact with your wang before," you say, gesturing at his lap.

He wordlessly screams to the ceiling. "You were supposed to notice you weren't attracted to me during all the makeouts, you nose-picking dunderhead! Do you walk into glass doors like an unobservant jackass too? How is someone as stupid as you surviving grad school?" He takes a deep breath and his shoulders slump. He speaks in what might as well be a meek whisper compared to everything that preceded it. "If this shit isn't mutual, then where the fuck does that even leave us?"

You study the wall because fucking anything is better than watching Karkat Vantas lose his moxie. "I dunno."

"Are we breaking up?" he says, his spunk draining more and more by the second.

You wince. "Christ, don't ask me that. Next you're gonna tell me we're at the part where I saw off my leg."

"You're the one who's not into this!" he snaps, regaining a little of his angry mettle.

"That doesn't mean I want to just drop our dates like they're a piece of garbage."

"Then what are they to you? 'Gals being pals'?" he asks, whipping out some airquotes and curling his lip.

"Well, if we were gals, this would be way hotter."

He drags his hands down his face. "Oh. My. God."

"I'd be the best lesbian." You shrug. "Just sayin'."

" _Dave_." He grabs you by your shoulders so you can't turn away. "Focus on what's in front of you for once in your goddamn life."

Jesus Christ, why? You don't want to be having this conversation. Fuck you and your inability to find an ugly muppet nose sticking out of a person's crotch hot. "Focus on what? This shitty conversation that's leading us right down Breakup Boulevard? That road's got more holes than an excavation site. It'll ruin my tires. Of course I'm trying a detour."

His eyebrows meet as he stares at you with his mouth hanging open. "What, so we're barreling down Denial Avenue instead? You really want to keep dating someone you're not attracted to instead of facing reality? Are you fucking unhinged?"

Maybe, but that's not the point. The point is, fuck the rules that are an inch from ruining your day. "Is it really as simple as a binary of 'attracted' or 'not attracted' though?" you ask. Instead of prompting a deep introspection, you shock Karkat silent. Okay, fuck attempts at eloquence too. New tactic time. "I mean, our dates our awesome. Making out with you's awesome. I'm not voting we avoid Boyfriend Street just because it's a little hilly."

"But our orientations aren't compatible, you bloated sack of kumquats," Karkat says, still gaping at you.

"Do we gotta break up over that though?" Okay, you just heard yourself. That does sound fucking nuts. You gotta add a little more sanity to the mix than that. "John's not into dick or ass or even pussy, but he's practically married to my mega slut of a brother."

"Aren't they celibate?" Karkat pauses, his eyes going wide as it finally fucking dawns on him. "Wait, you want us to just skip over the sex part of a relationship?"

That is maybe what you were about to imply. God dammit, you really are half asexual. "There are worse hurdles for a couple to go through. I could be asking you to join my church group."

"I still wasn't braced for throwing away my sex life here!" He runs a hand through his messyass bangs and gapes at the floor. "It's not that I've never considered how I'd handle a celibate romance in all of my infinite wisdom, but even my trainwreck of a brain couldn't pair celibacy with Dave motherfucking Strider."

You cock your head. "Why the fuck were you daydreaming about a celibate romance?"

"So fucking sue me that I've given thought to theoretical romantic scenarios of various unusual flavors, you short-sighted heap of arrogant horsecrap!" He takes a deep breath, swallowing the fury out of his voice, and chews his lower lip. "Christ, I just assumed it would stay theoretical."

"So you're not down with this," you say, keeping your voice at its best monotone because even you're not sure what kind of emotion will come spilling out if you let reality sink in right now.

"I don't know! It's not like I want to break up either, but I'm not ready to make a compromise this fucking huge!" His shoulders droop. "Can I get my rocks off with someone else at least? Is that still on the table?"

"Dude, I'd be all kinds of hypocritical if I wasn't cool with you dating other people." Seriously, what kind of douche does he think you are? You could handle that. Probably. Though on second thought... "Just do me a favor and don't date one of those juggalo guys, a'right? I don't want secondhand clown kisses."

He snorts and shakes his head. "Yeah, I'm not making that mistake again."

You swallow. "So, no break up yet?"

He flops back against the couch and lets out a heavy sigh, staring at the ceiling. "Yeah, let's keep resuscitating this shabby relationship for as long as we can get another breath out of it. This awkward as balls conversation can stand as evidence that we're not completely incapable of mature negotiation." He fumbles for your hand until you slide your fingers against his. "We just need to act like adults and actually use words. I know how farfetched that sounds regarding my loud mouth, but I can goddamn try to stretch my maturity beyond its usual limits."

Your heart eases up on trying to pound its way out of your chest. "Yeah, if we can tough it out through this storm, ain't no wind gonna topple us over." You laugh. "Hurricanes will cower from our might."

This is the part where you wake up, right? Because otherwise you just saved your oddball relationship by taking a leaf out of John's dating handbook. Talk about a blow to your coolkid rep. At least you got all the way into Karkat's boxers before giving up, when John would have run for the hills as soon as flies opened.

Wait a goddamn moment. You aren't sex-repulsed like John. There's no law saying you gotta take all the leaves out of his dating handbook and go full-on "ew, sex is icky" just 'cos dicks aren't your thing.

You scoot closer to Karkat. "Hey, actually, hey, before we lose all this heat and gotta throw it in the microwave, let me give it another go," you say, tugging at his zipper. It's cool that Karkat gives so many fucks about your dumb ass that he'll mash mouths with you and let you off the hook for mashing crotches -- seriously, he must give at least nine fucks about you -- but maybe you give an even ten fucks about him. You can compromise too.

He straightens his neck and shoots you a glare. "You _just_ chickened out of this, you injudicious ass sniffer!"

"That's probably a thing I did, but on further reflection, just 'cos I don't think your junk's all that pretty doesn't mean I can't touch it." Reaching down and touching it is weird as shit, but you can jack yourself off without wimping out, so you can get through this too. Even if he's uncircumcised and that's kinda weird.

"You're... really okay with it?" he asks as if he's not melting against the couch or anything and totally into this two seconds in. Yeah, this is worth the awkwardness of touching dick. "Have you actually made up your damn mind this time?"

"My damn mind has decreed that this isn't sexy and I'm not into it, but y'know what, my bro got it up for a chick and he's hella gay," you say. You don't even have to do that much, just throw in some fancy hand movements here and there. "I can figure out how to work a dick if it belongs to the dude I'm hella into making out with."

He gives you the most unimpressed fucking stare. "Thank you, Dave, for setting the mood with a comparison to your parents getting it on."

"Do you want this handjob or do you want to critique the foot in my mouth?" You rest your chin on his shoulder and smirk. "Remember the criticism sandwich and start with praise."

He groans, rolling his head back. "You don't suck at this that hard."

You glance down at his crotch. "Yeah, I'm gonna need a little more time before I'm ready to move up to sucking, even for you."

He cups your cheek and bites your lip. "Goddamn it, Strider, you're such a fucking pervert."

You shiver. Irony is such a bitch. For the first time in your goddamn life, you feel like a fucking prude.

* * *

Why do you have a copy of Jurassic Park sitting under your textbooks? The novel, not the DVD. You wouldn't question a DVD making its mark anywhere in your abode. You don't read for fun, though, and this book sure ain't Terezi's, seeing as it's not a CD or written in braille or whatever.

You flip through its yellowed pages. Some asshole with tidy handwriting's marked it up all over the margins and that asshole is definitely not you. Wait, right, this is that shitty used copy Bro must have picked up at a flea market for a quarter as an ironic Christmas present.

You should ironically read it. You don't have much patience for novels, but after a few dozen ten-pound textbooks under your belt, this sea of paragraphs looks like a puddle, no snorkeling gear even required.

You flip past the introduction and prop the book open on "Prologue: The Bite of the Raptor." Before you can make your own quip, the previous owner's notes beat you to it: "that must be the title of a rejected Dr. Who episode." You snort. At least they're snarky. Your used textbooks only ever come with notes so braindead that they make John look like an academic thinker by comparison.

This is gonna be a longass read, though. You can't even get through two sentences before Mr. Previous Owner underlines a character's name with the note, "Dr. Carter never appears again for the rest of the novel to the point that knowing her first name is superfluous. Get used to that." Hey, spoilers much? It's cheating to leave notes on a reread anyway.

Whatever. It's not like you should be reading this. Procrastination time was an hour ago when you watched a couple Cinema Snob videos. Now it's time to buckle down, drop the Christmas present back into obscurity, and get real shit done.

If you could just find your damn textbook. It doesn't make any sense that you'd leave it in the living room, but who said life makes sense? It's not _here,_ so unless you left it in the classroom...

Your chest clenches. Okay, chill, don't panic yet. Living room is still more likely than campus. If it comes down to it, you'll pirate the damn PDF. Not like you haven't already paid for it.

You step out of the bedroom. "Yo, Terezi, have you seen... What the fuck am I saying?" You rub your brow. "Pay no attention to the man who's misplaced his goddamn homework."

That blunder deserves a loud cackle at your expense, or at the very least a middle finger pointed your direction, but all you get is a grunt from the couch. Aw shit, did you wake her? Need to install an "Afternoon nap time: Do Not Disturb" sign around here, goddamn.

You bite your lip so you don't go blathering vulgarity-ridden rambles as you quest for your missing textbook, treading lightly the nearer you are to the couch. You catch a peek at Terezi and hesitate. She's curled up with her back to you, but that ain't any kind of relaxed sleeping position.

You kneel and rest your elbows on the armrest, tilting your head to confirm that her eyes are open behind her glasses. "There a reason you're getting your cuddle on with the couch?" you ask.

"Homework was too hard, so I tried watching some Law and Order to clear my head," she says without moving. Her voice is rough as if she's gone too long without a good swig of apple juice to wet her whistle.

You glance over your shoulder to confirm what you already know. "The TV's off."

"That was too hard, too."

You frown. That's a code red if you ever heard one. Time to send in the best team you've got to handle this situation. "Want me to read you some badfic to take your mind off shit?" you ask, already digging in your pocket for your cell.

"No."

Your finger slows halfway through unlocking your screen. The best team is pulling out. You're on your own. You're fucking doomed. "T'z, where's your Xanax?"

"I took a pill five hours ago." Not that she usually makes eye contact with you or anything, but this level of avoiding your gaze is excessive even by her standards.

You're so in over your head. Call in the lifeguard and get a floaty thing in this pool before your phone dies from the waterlog. You draw back. "Should I give you some space?"

"Why?" she says to the back of the couch, a bite to her tone. "Do you think I'm made of porcelain and you'll break me if you aren't careful?"

You cringe. "I think you're severely underestimating what a klutz I am. I could shatter unbreakable steel if given the chance, which is why no one should ever entrust me with swords of any value, let alone pretty girls." Why can't you just abscond? Keep the rambles short for once in your life and run while you still can. "C'mon, if it's none of my business, I don't want to stick my nose where it don't belong."

"Yeah, whatever," she mutters as if bitterness is supposed to be a foreign language that goes straight over your head in a mess of miscommunication.

You kneel next to the couch. "You want me to stick around?"

"Yes." She groans and curls in on herself. "No."

"Well that's informative."

"I don't want to make you to stick around if it's just going to make you miserable."

You sigh. So now it's about you? Maybe? Or you just made it about you? Fuck. "Terezi, what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it." She rolls so the couch cushion muffles her voice. "It's dumb. I can deal with it by myself."

"Clearly." You rub your temple. Look at you, making shit worse with your girlfriend and procrastinating on your homework in one go. You're the second best adult in the whole wide room. "Look, if you need something, I'll stay in earshot. Okay?" You at least wait on a response, but she isn't supplying. "T'z?"

"Am I fucking this up for you and Karkat?" she says so quietly that you have to mull it over for a couple seconds to piece the syllables together into coherent words.

"What?" you say, but you don't get a clarification, because of course you don't. "Dude, you said you were cool with the double dating."

"I am. I don't care that you're poly." She wraps her arms over her head like a shield. "But you two are so happy together and I'm getting all my shitty issues on you."

You're kinda glad she can't see you roll your eyes. It's probably rude, while she's baring her soul and all. "What are you, a yaoi fangirl? Gotta get rid of the chick so the boys have more space to get it on? I thought you weren't in the mood for shitty fanfic tropes, yet here you are trying to reenact some in real life."

"Maybe sometimes the chick wrecks what would otherwise be a happy relationship," she snaps, but you're in too deep now to scamper away at the first sign of animosity.

"If Karkat and I can only survive without you, how strong do you think my relationship with him could even fucking be?" A lover's squabble is totally the time for sarcasm, thanks. You snort and shake your head. "Man, I'll have to warn him. Sorry, Vantas, but we can't grow close until Terezi makes herself scarce. She's too busy being a person with problems for us hot yaoi boys to handle." You fan yourself like the smoldering yaoi boy you are, but she's not paying attention to your improv routine so you end it by running a hand through your hair. "Jesus Christ, Terezi, you've put up with so much bullshit from me. What makes you think you don't get a free turn of moping?"

"I don't deserve it," she mutters.

"Now that ain't true." You settle on the arm rest, which isn't designed for the weight of an adult male, but that's tough love for you. "You deserve a lot of shit."

"I deserve to crawl after my ex and beg her to go back to bossing me around and tearing me down."

You know who would better in this situation than you? Anyone. Fucking anyone. Even John. (Maybe not Bro. Give yourself that much credit.) But if you want to talk ideal, you kind of wish you were Rose right now, with her years of amateur psychiatry and patience. You're you, though, and all you know is surface-level comforts. You climb to your feet. "You deserve pink hot cocoa."

"You just want to leave so you don't have to deal with other people's problems."

Terezi's words bite like a starving wolf gnawing into your ankle, tripping you up so you either stop in your tracks or topple. You'd fare better against the wolf, actually. At least you can fight back against wild animals. How do you defend against your girlfriend when she's armed with unpleasant truths?

So sue you that you want to give her some space before your presence takes this mopefest up to eleven. Cocoa is better than anything your useless tongue has to offer in this situation.

What a fucking catch you are.

You take a deep breath, slide your shades off for safe keeping, and climb back onto the couch, this time sliding in right behind her and wrapping your arms around her stomach. Fuck your homework tonight. Straight-A's are overrated anyway, like Starbucks coffee and Coldplay.

"Dave?" she says, raising her head.

"Okay. So. Look." You swallow to give yourself another second to amass a collection of words that hopefully won't betray you. "I don't like watching you hang out under a storm all by yourself. I don't have an umbrella, but I can camp out with you until this passes, a'right?"

"You're wasting your time," she grumbles, curling back up.

"Nah." You don't get this. You're used to Karkat's spirals of self-loathing, but they follow his especially offensive outbursts; his moping makes some semblance of sense, even if it's overdramatic. What the fuck has Terezi ever done to deserve a regular Xanax prescription that doesn't always do the job? "I've said I love you recently, right?"

She's quiet a moment. "Probably."

"Okay, just thought I'd renew it in case the due date was getting close. Late fees suck and I don't want anyone thinking I didn't care enough to bring those words back to the library in time for the hot redhead desk clerk to take them in." You rest your chin on her shoulder and nudge your head against hers. "I love you, dudette, even when your brain makes you a little crazy. And let's be real, you keep hella chiller than I manage most days. You've really gotta train harder if you wanna mope on my level."

"Yeah, you're pretty high maintenance," she says, and there's actually the smallest twinge of amusement in her scratchy voice.

You grin. Well, shit, looks like you done got burned. Whatever it takes for her to aim that negativity away from herself, even for a few seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's quite likely this will never be outright stated anywhere in-story, so I'll just note it here: I'm writing Dave as heterosexual and biromantic, also known as sexually attracted to the opposite gender and romantically attracted to more than one gender. Because conflicting romantic orientation is totally underutilized in fiction.


	11. Chapter 11

You need a mantra, your own personal "I must not fear; fear is the mindkiller." Something like "the world ain't gonna stop turning, so just roll with it," but with more polish and an ironic punch. You're still working on it. It'll give you something better to fall back on than "Why, why, why?" when life throws another curveball right into your face.

At least on the grand scale of surprises you've tripped over these past few months, Rose standing on your porch without any goddamn warning is practically a reprieve.

You still facepalm, leaving your other hand on the doorknob. "What the actual hell are you doing here?"

"My spring break is three weeks earlier than yours," she says, her eyebrows raising as if she's shocked you wouldn't piece together such an obvious answer on your own.

"Yeah, that doesn't remotely answer my question."

"It does if you infer from context." She holds up a small suitcase. "I'll dumb it down so we're both on the same page: may I borrow a couch for a few nights?"

Might as well roll with it 'cos fear is the mindkiller. You step aside to clear a path for her, though you still say, "Why would you want to waste your spring break bunking here?"

"Is it so suspect to dedicate time to my long lost brother?" she asks as she enters the apartment. You would've cleaned a _little_ if you'd expected company -- hidden your porn stash, that is. "How could I pass up the opportunity for our first awkward sibling hug?"

You sigh and push the door shut before you offer your arms to her. "All right, fine, but you better not give me cooties."

She drops her bag next to the couch. "If you're so concerned, you should have gotten your booster shot," she says, slipping into your loose embrace and returning it with a tighter grip.

She's a perfect paradox of companion and stranger -- your long-time friend and brand new sister. How did you even miss the family resemblance before now? You share a nose and general head shape with her, on top of the blond hair. (Hers isn't graying yet, the lucky broad.)

"Dave, was the intruder at the door Rose, or are you getting your cuddle on with some other pale blond asshole?" Terezi calls as she pokes her head out of the bedroom, holding her glasses up and squinting at you.

"We got infested with a freeloader, but we'll let it slide because it's my sister." You wince in exaggeration when Rose nudges you in the ribs.

"Rose is here and I wasn't invited to the hug session?" Terezi scoffs and marches over. "This injustice will not stand!"

Rose chuckles and trades your arms for Terezi's. "Nice to see you again too, Terezi."

Terezi drops her chin on Rose's shoulder and sniffs. "Mm, you smell like lavender, honey, and peaches," she says, taking another whiff as if it's not creepy at all to get up in your sister's scent. "Your perfume never fails to impress."

"Neither does your nose," Rose says, her face scrunched up as if she's likewise a little thrown by the intimacy. She breaks the hug and puts on a crooked smile. "How have you been?"

Terezi wobbles her hand in a so-so fashion. "There are good days and there are less good days."

"Did your doctor finally change your meds?" Rose asks like a fuckin' busybody psych student who's gotta diagnose everyone in a ten-foot radius. "I always thought Xanax was an odd choice for you."

Terezi is the queen of oversharing, though, so it all works out. "Yes, they are giving me a much steadier diet of delicious pills to try out this time." She flops on the couch and pats the seat next to her. "Is your professor still shitty?"

Rose sighs as she joins her. "The fucking _worst._ Not only does he have the depth of a wading pool, he's an all-around moron. He literally thinks our papers will be worse if we draft them on a laptop instead of with a pen."

You shake your head and make your leave, Terezi's chants of "Drop the class! Drop the class!" echoing at your back. They want to have a heart-to-heart and leave you out of it, that's fine by you. You'll make a pot of coffee like a gracious host and keep working on that mantra in the kitchen. Your family is here; roll with it, motherfucker.

* * *

"K.O.!" the TV yells. "Winner!"

Yep, nothing breaks the ice like getting your ass kicked at Dead Or Alive. Your button mashing is no match against a chick who memorizes the fancy combo moves like a nerd. You shoulda handed Terezi the controller and spared your dignity, but she's abandoned you for homework, so you're on your own until she tags you out.

"So why are you actually here?" you ask, taking advantage of the break between matches to at least finish off your delicious lukewarm coffee, the official drink of losers. "Did you figure you'd get better reactions if you caught me off-guard, or are you still waiting to spring your trap? Is this about John's birthday? Are we planning a surprise party?"

"It _has_ been difficult to concoct fitting gifts now that he's too far south to appreciate knitted goods," Rose says, flicking her joystick without even watching the screen.

"Knit him a sweater with Slimer on the front and he'll wear it even in July. Your long search is over. Your quest is now complete and your reward is all this sweet XP." You hold a hand over your heart and bow your head. "No need to thank me."

She shoots you a smirk. "Is this your polite way of sending me on my way, o wise quest giver?"

"Nah, you can still chill a few days, quest or no." You're long overdue to choose your roster for the next match, but you've got better mysteries to solve than whether you'll survive another round against Rose's digital karate moves. "You can pay me for the lodging at the special discount rate of explaining why you're here."

"What if I'm here to ask you something that might be uncomfortable to answer?" she asks, her thumb going still.

You drop your controller onto the couch cushion and lounge against the armrest. "When has my comfort _ever_ stopped you from saying shit?"

"Then I'll stop beating around the bush," she says, her gaze boring into you. "What was our dad like?"

You flop your head back and take a deep breath. Can't blame a sis for being curious. "Yeah, I should've seen that coming." You fumble for the remote to at least put the game on mute while you have this hella serious heart-to-heart. "Look, there's not that much to say on the matter. Bro ignored me. He taught me how to put together an ill beat and swing a sword, then he unleashed me on the Internet and let it face the task of actually raising me."

She nods along, setting aside her controller. "That explains a lot about your offensive demeanor."

"Yeah, yeah, 4chan is a pretty laid back parent." You roll your eyes. "Anyway, you didn't miss out on much in the Strider household, if that's what you're worried about."

"I was never under any illusions otherwise."

"Then what'd you fuckin' ask for?" you say in exasperation. Goddamn, you don't get all honest 'n shit for nothing.

She drops her gaze, instead examining her nail polish. "I can still be curious about my fucked up father."

You rub your temple. She's always had a way of dragging you into exhausting topics. "Well, he likes puppets, rap, and my best friend. He knows a lot about gay stuff, so you two have that in common, and he'll nitpick you to death if you give him an inch." You slide your hand down and rest your chin on it. "He's been trying to reach out to me lately," you say, as if it's even relevant.

"Is that a bad thing?" she asks, glancing your way with renewed curiosity now that you're the vulnerable party again.

"Kind of?" You lean back and stare at the ceiling. It's bad because you're handling it so poorly, so there's that. "You know, he was a teenager when I was a kid. I think he, like... never got the chance to grow up properly. Now that we've had some distance, he's figuring shit out and trying to make up for it too late. If we didn't have that baggage, maybe we'd get along okay. But you can't just drop that shit behind you, or else airport security will scream at you for leaving it unattended."

"There's a reason you have to check it at the front counters," she says.

"Are you kidding?" You straighten. "That costs like fifty bucks per bag."

"They won't let you fly with multiple oversized suitcases, though." She rubs her thumb and forefingers together. "You'll have to either suck up the cash or get unpacking. Or wallow in the airport forever."

"Can't be that bad. Maybe I'll make friends with Tom Hanks and his made-up accent."

She snorts and turns away as if you didn't already catch that smile. "I'm sure with his help you'll learn the value of moving on and boarding your plane like a big boy just before the credits roll." She sighs and pulls her legs onto the couch. "Is there any chance you could call him on speaker phone?"

"Tom Hanks?"

She backhands your knee. "Our father."

"What." It takes some effort to keep your poker face from shattering into a cringe. "Why."

She clears her throat and sits at full height, speaking as if she's lecturing a class rather than asking a favor. "It would be educational to hear his tone and how he articulates himself."

Oh, she's piling the bullshit high today. Unlucky for her, you've known her for over ten years and bullshitting runs in the family, so it doesn't take too many dots to connect her true motivations. "You wanna hear your dad's voice."

Her lips go thin and she says nothing.

You'd like to let her squirm in that silence a good two minutes, but silence sucks. It sucks so hard. Why did you mute the damn TV? Okay, it's been ten seconds, close enough. "You gonna talk to him?"

She contorts her face a few times before carefully saying, "That would probably not be the most productive way to introduce myself to my father, so no."

Coward. Not that you can't relate, though. You'd eavesdrop on your mom, given the chance, but hell to the no do you want to have a surprise family reunion with some broad you've never met. You've already got all these fuckin' emotions from a surprise family reunion with some sister who's practically your best friend.

Yeah, okay, you're doing this. You're making the favor happen. "You owe me," you say as you dig out your phone.

Her eyes widen but she gets herself back under control with a quick shake of her head. "I'll send you a very nice Hallmark card."

"Okay, but it better play shitty music when I open it." You dig through your contacts and select Bro, then switch to speaker phone as soon as it starts ringing.

No lying, you hope it goes to voicemail. You set the cell on the couch between you and Rose, waiting for the rings to cut out. (C'mon, voicemail.)

"Hey. You trying to reach John?" Shit, that ain't voicemail.

"No," you reply on automatic. "Why?"

"What else would you call for, kid?" Bro says with a tinge of bafflement that he's totally earned.

Houston, you have a problem: you shouldn't have phoned Houston like an unprepared dumbass. You've got no reply here. What are you supposed to do, tell him that his secret daughter wants to hear his voice?

Roll with it for all you're fucking worth. "What, you saying I need a reason?" you ask. "I can't just surprise my former roomie with a phone call to hear how it's hanging? It's called being motherfuckin' friendly, bitch."

"Sure, kid. So what's bothering you this time?" he asks. "Everything chill on the boyfriend front?"

Your face heats up as Rose smirks at you. "It is hella chill, dog!" you say. "I still don't like dong, but we're so tight that we're fucking anyway." You've rolled too far and fallen right off a cliff. Goodbye, cruel world. "I know you were all kinds of concerned about that." For the love of god, don't look at Rose's reaction. "So there's your annual update."

He sighs and you can't exactly blame him for showing exasperation at your babbling. "Just don't force yourself into a situation you don't want, li'l bro."

That is approximately zero percent of his business, but you're the one who brought it up, so that's your bad. He could still stand to be less of an ass about it. "Trust me to have a little backbone, man. You're the one stuck watching Con Air fifty-two times a year, but you don't hear me nagging you to reevaluate the concessions you make for your boyfriend."

"Kid, tolerating a shitty movie ain't the same as..." Bro doesn't finish his thought. His phone's mic picks up a few odd thuds, followed by John's garbled voice mixed with Bro's reply of, "I've got this, Jo-" before even his words turn muffled.

You exchange a glance with Rose. It's uncanny how precise she is at meeting your gaze even with your shades in the way. "Bro?" you say.

"Hey, dude!" John says, his voice up close and clear. "I stole Dirk's phone! It is my phone now. I guess you gotta entertain me."

You snort. "John, what the fresh hell are you doing?"

"It sounded like you were about to make shit awkward and dumb again, so I am here to save the day. Did you buttdial us or something?"

Rose leans towards you to speak closer to the phone. "This disaster is on me, actually."

"Whoa! Hey, Rose!" John says. "What are you doing on Dave's phone? Are you a fellow phone thief?"

"We're on speaker. I'm visiting Dave over my spring break and made the mistake of encouraging him to make contact with his father," she says, sidestepping her true motivations like a pro. Thank Christ, because this ain't the best time to play John Egbert roulette and gamble on whether he'll shrug off the discovery that Rose is his boyfriend's secret daughter like he's learning tomorrow's weather, or whether his head will explode Scanners-style.

"Yeah, I can see where you'd be concerned about that, but honestly, the Striders are pretty useless at family emotions," John says. "You can't just lock them in a room and expect them to work it out without supervision or else I would have already tried that."

Rose hides a smile behind her hand. "You can't blame an amateur therapist for giving it a shot."

"Well, maybe we can put our heads together and come up with a nefarious plot that'll actually work on dudes as emotionally hopeless as Striders."

You could wait to see how this plays out, but on the other hand... "I can still hear you, dumbass," you say.

John pauses for a few seconds. "Uhhh, just kidding, bro! Pranked you good!" he says with all the acting chops of Steven Seagal. "Rose, call me on your own phone when you get a chance," he whispers as if still forgetting what a speaker phone entails. "See ya!"

You could just about crack up at how fast that call ended, but you leave it to a couple of cool chuckles while Rose shakes her head. "Welp," you say, "we lost two conversation partners in one call. Did that shitshow satisfy your craving for Strider Senior?"

"It was... enlightening." She shoots you a smile. "Thank you."

"No prob." You collect your phone so you can play up your apathy factor by scrolling through Twitter like this conversation ain't no big deal. "You can always pay me back by calling up your mom."

Rose doesn't answer immediately, then digs out her own phone. "Let me talk to her a bit before I put her on speaker."

Maybe someday you'll learn when to stick a sock in it instead of saying whatever springs to mind. Today you're stuck rolling with your mistakes or wussing out. "Hey, it's the natural next step here before we inevitably move into wacky shenanigans from The Parent Trap." As if wussing out is a real option. "Maybe I'll one-up you and actually trade some words with my long lost parent."

She smirks. "Maybe I'll be impressed when it happens."

"Then prepare to lift your jaw from the floor." Your finger keeps scrolling your feed, but you haven't read any of the last two dozen tweets. There was probably a cat meme in there. "You have any advice so I don't sound like an idiot the first time I talk to my mom?"

"Be yourself?" she says as she puts her phone to her ear. "Wait, you're a douche. Be me."

"Anyone ever tell you to try stand-up comedy? Because it'd be sweet to watch someone chuck a tomato at you."

She holds a finger over her lips for silence, getting to her feet as her call connects. She paces away from you, keeping her voice down as she says, "Hey, Mom. I'm staying with... a friend. Are you..." She cups her hand over the phone for some privacy, but it doesn't do much to mute her. "Because you promised you'd stay dry this week!" she hisses. "No. I said no. I'm not setting foot in that house while you're still slurring."

Even you're not enough of an ass to enjoy eavesdropping on this shit. C'mon, Twitter, where's a good distraction? Someone's gotta have a video of their ferret playing fetch. Okay, a dog running around in a giant spider costume works. Lookit that happy as shit dog, totally unaware it's been transformed into a freak of nature.

The couch cushion shifts as Rose returns to her spot next to you. She takes a deep breath. "Sorry." She stuffs her phone into her pocket. "It's not a good time for a call. We can try again tomorrow."

You nod, closing out of Twitter. "Nah, it's cool. I was getting cold feet anyway." It was a stupid idea to begin with. Your inner teenager jumped at the chance for a new parent, but that's a fantasy long dead. You and Rose have history, so it's not a stretch to shift from friends to family, but your "mom" is just some alcoholic stranger, regardless of DNA. You don't need a second bullshit parent. You probably don't even need one. "We're, like, unanimous that Bro was a shitty parental figure, right? That's not just one of my exaggerations?"

Rose rests her chin in her palm and gives you an unimpressed stare. "I think 'shitty' is a pretty apt description, yes."

"Yeah, is it stupid to stay in contact with someone like that?" you ask, turning your phone over in your hand.

She raises her eyebrows. "That's your call to make. If it makes you more comfortable, cut him off."

You grunt. Your phone slips from your fingers, but you let it fall onto the cushion beside you. "You haven't cut off your mom, have you?"

She draws back. "Despite my mother's numerous failings as a parent, no, I haven't cut her off." She chews on her lip before adding, "I resent that I grew up too fast because of her drinking. If I'm being honest, it was dangerous to live under her drunk supervision." She lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. "And yet I still love her. She's not remotely entitled to that love, but when have emotions ever been rational?"

"But you're here now."

She winces and crosses her arms, looking away. "Sometimes it's too much to watch someone I know is so fucking smart make the dumbest fucking decisions. She's steamrolling through a male-dominated field, she has a dream house fully paid off, yet she can't spend a single day sober."

You wrap an arm around her, patting her shoulder like a good big brother. "Being an adult is hard, dude. It's hard and we can't understand."

"We're adults," she says, leaning against you.

You scoff. "The hell we are. If we were adults, we'd get why the other adults are so fucked up." It doesn't even feel weird when she rests her head against your shoulder. Maybe you've been treating her like a sister longer than you realized. "Bro's kind of like your mom, y'know. He's a walking dictionary, he's squeezed a fortune out of a goddamn puppet business, and he's fucking atrocious with kids."

"Well, no wonder our parents were drawn to each other. They're both genius idiots."

You laugh. "Damn, we're doomed to inherit that if it comes from both sides." As if that's news, but at least you can blame it on your genes now. "You think they'll ever get their shit together?"

Rose takes a deep breath. "I won't say it's impossible, but I wouldn't get my hopes up. People can change -- my profession would be useless if they couldn't -- but it's depressingly rare."

"Well, Bro's been making some sort of attempt, but, uh. I kinda flipped out on him." You expect her to whip out her notepad and start playing therapist with eagerness, but instead she just nods for you to continue. "He's this cool, untouchable badass who has nothing to do with me. How was I supposed to react when he's suddenly saying nice shit and showing an interest in my life?"

"You were scared."

You wrinkle your nose. "Scared's kind of an extreme word, but I figured he was faking it so he could catch me off-guard. He wants me on my toes like I'm the head ballerina in the middle of a performance."

She pats the wrist you still have draped over her shoulder. "You must be feeling a lot of pressure to rise to his standards."

You run your free hand down your face. "Except he lowered those standards and I'm getting graded on a curve, so who knows what he actually thinks of me now?"

"You're disappointed you haven't earned what you consider his respect."

You open your mouth to reply, hesitate, then aim a scowl at her instead. "Oh my god, you're doing that active listening shit on me, aren't you?"

"My therapy techniques are making you feel manipulated," she says in the same distant, even tone as before. You yank your arm away and get to your feet with a groan, but she catches your hand. "Dave, wait," she says, dropping the detached therapist shtick in an instant. "This isn't a game to me. I'm using whatever methods are effective at guiding you through emotions you'd otherwise never even admit you feel."

"I don't need your frou frou psychology crap right now." You flop back onto the couch though. "It's just a yes or no question: do I kick Bro out of my life?"

"Do you want him out of your life?"

You throw your head back. "I don't goddamn know. That's kind of why I'm looking for outside opinions."

"Unfortunately, there is no wrong answer." She catches your shoulder and squeezes it. "If you think he's making an effort to improve or you're ready to tolerate his bad traits again, that's fine. If the baggage is too heavy or you don't want to chance that nothing improves, that's fine too."

A floorboard creaks and you both glance towards the hall, where Terezi stands awkwardly with a textbook tucked under her arm, her headphones pulled down to rest around her neck.

"So." She clears her throat. "Bad time to ask about ordering pizza?"

Rose sits up straight and folds her hands in her lap. "Don't mind us. We're just getting our obligatory family drama out of the way early. I think I speak for both of us when I say that pizza sounds fucking awesome."

"Hella better than drunk moms and shitty dads," you say, raising a thumb in approval.

Terezi forces a laugh and turns back for the bedroom, fumbling for her phone. "Calling for one large combo with extra cheese as we speak."

Rose sighs and lets her shoulders droop once Terezi disappears through the door. "Before we lay this topic to rest in favor of greasy cheese, do you ever want to meet Mom if I can track her down sober?"

You glance to the ceiling and turn it over one more time in your mind instead of blurting meaningless bullshit again. "Y'know what? I'm good, for real. I've got all the family I could ask for already." You shoot her an ultra rare, holographic, collectible, sincere smile, which she returns in kind. "Are you actually gonna approach Bro later?"

"I'm considering it. Even if he's a shitty parent, I don't have history with him, which sounds kind of novel." She nudges you. "I'm also not reeling from my _two_ datemates and a surprise new sibling, so I have a little elbow room in my relationships."

"So you're saying you need to get laid."

She snorts. "Fuck you, slut."

"A good lay a day keeps the hankering for the smuppet man away, s'all I'm saying." You raise your hands in a shrug. "Seriously, Karkat would die to play matchmaker. He's even got a hot lesbian friend he could sic on you. I hear she likes vampires."

"I'll tuck that suggestion away for later," she says with a sly smile.

"Dave!" Terezi calls down the hall. "The pizza's ready in fifteen, so get your butt to the Hut!"

"Aight!" you call back, getting to your feet. "Wanna pick up a pizza with me, sis?"

Rose catches your hand to pull herself up. "I _am_ here to spend time with my big bro."

"You get your shoes, I'll get my keys, and we'll bounce." Your keys are probably on the dresser. You part ways and head for the bedroom, grabbing your jacket from a chair along the way. Next time you should keep your "stepping out" shit in the same room so you don't have to trek over the whole apartment, but whatever, exercise is hard to come by in school.

Terezi's still on the phone when you round the corner. You pause in case she just got a callback that Pizza Hut severely overestimated their oven's speed, but her voice isn't lilted for an exchange with a stranger.

"Hey, Mom? Is this a bad time?" She winds a strand of hair around her finger, lets it straighten, then winds it up again. "Nah, it's cool, I just wanted to let you know that I love you. Pass that on to Dad, too? No, Sollux can suck it." She cackles. "Fiiine, tell him he's pretty okay for a big brother."

You suppose jealousy wouldn't be unwarranted right about now, but you can't be bothered with that kind of bitterness. If your dumb situation inspired Terezi to embrace what she's got, hey, at least your drama was good for something. You're not close enough for her to make out your smile when she notices you in the doorway, but that's probably just as well. Your coolkid rep will fare better if no one knows.


	12. Chapter 12

Who knew Christmas miracles could make a guest appearance in April? Only little baby Jesus could twist the fabric of reality enough to net you a spring break without a mountain of homework looming next Monday. You don't got shit to turn in for almost two weeks.

You're like a kid at a candy store for a full week, paralyzed by the sheer number of options at your disposal. Do you go for the gummy bears or the M&M's? Do you play video games all day long or take a road trip to the nearest freezing cold beach?

You can mother. Fucking. Nap.

Sucks that your sleep schedule is too strict to let you pass out for more than half an hour when the sun's still out, though. You stare at the ceiling, waiting for your body to get the message that it's got all the time in the world to conk out, but at this rate you might as well get a start on next week's reading.

You roll over. The battered old copy of Jurassic Park catches your eye with its sharp red logo, sitting on your desk unread and unloved. At least it's not homework. You stretch an arm to grab it.

Every time you try reading this shit, you just want to go watch the movie again, but you trudge along for a couple chapters anyway; if you don't read it, Bro will probably subject you to a pop quiz. Maybe you can make this a spring break challenge: finish one whole book in a week. You should pay more attention to the previous owner's notes in the margins, though, in case they're worth extra credit.

"The movie might have state of the art special FX," the messy penmanship reads, "but it ain't got shit on the book's secret weapon: motherfuckin' flowcharts." You snort. Okay, you can't deny, you like this asshole -- even if he thinks he's more clever than he is for riffing a book MST3K-style.

"Dave?" Terezi pops her head into the bedroom. "You awake?"

"Unfortunately." You toss the book back onto your desk. Not like you can bash it up more than it already is with a little mishandling. "Sup? Is it my turn to make supper?"

"Yes, but right now my priority is wrenching some entertainment out of you," she says, making her way over to the bed and climbing on top of you.

You oblige her and lean back against the mattress. "You using me to hide from homework?" You reach up to cop a feel. "I can get down with that."

"I barely have any homework, actually." She nudges your shirt up. "My teachers were very merciful this year."

You let out a low whistle. No wonder she's so intent on getting freaky with you. You haven't had this kind of free time since Christmas break. "Jesus is real."

She wrinkles her nose and prods you in the shoulder. "Don't you get religious on me, Strider."

"Nah, man, even the miracle that we've _both_ got all the free time in the world this week ain't enough to convert me to a religion with songs as shitty as Christian music." You burrow your hands under her shirt. "Damn, we can get fucking drunk on freedom this year."

"The world is our oyster." She traces her finger down your chest and to your navel, then back up again. "So, what do we do after the obligatory celebration sex? I didn't make any plans 'cos I assumed we'd be swamped."

"Same here. We could sleep the whole week, but I already tried that and woke up early."

"That would be a problem." She strokes at your hair almost like she's fidgeting, then nudges your shades off. "Let's go to Vegas and get hitched by Elvis."

Your bare gaze meets her unfocused eyes. "Oh my god, that's perfect."

* * *

"Dave Strider is now married to Terezi Pyrope," Facebook says, to the tune of 382 likes and 72 comments -- and it's only been two hours since the post went live.

Half of those comments are generic congratulations, while the rest run along the lines of "Is this another dumb gag, Strider?" After the number of times you've Facebook married John, it's probably healthy that your friends take your big announcements with a grain of salt.

Rose is the first skeptic to cut the line at the comments section and message you directly, interrupting the beautiful wedding reception on your hotel room bed. Here you were about to propose a toast on Twitter.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 17:42 --

TT: This was short-sighted, in poor taste, and sure to have unexpected consequences down the road.  
TT: I approve.  
TG: i aim to please  
TT: You looked terrible in that dress.  
TG: but t-z was hot af in that tux and thats all that matters  
TT: She was fucking stunning in that tux.  
TT: As the commonfolk say, hubba hubba.  
TG: dude that wasnt an invitation to drool over my wife  
TG: i mean if you were some classmate or something then yeah go wild with envy and wishing you were me  
TG: but its just creepy when it comes from my sister  
TT: Well, it's not my fault that my brother has a hot wife.  
TT: She doesn't have a sister, does she? Maybe we could double date sometime.  
TG: hey would you look at that johns messaging me to send a far more appropriate mazel tov my direction  
TG: i gotta give such a chill dude my full attention sry bye

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 17:49 --

\-- ghostyTrickster [GT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 17:49 --

GT: you got MARRIED???  
TG: hell yeah we did  
TG: say hello to mrs terezi pyrope  
GT: omfg, dude, what?  
GT: i thought i was gonna be your best man!  
TG: dude you totally were  
TG: in spirit  
TG: i could sense you watching over us  
TG: giving a heartfelt toast about what a couple of dorky losers we are  
TG: it was a fuckin rude speech in retrospect  
TG: you should be ashamed of yourself for ruining our day like that  
GT: daaaaaaaave!  
GT: seriously, i wanted to be there for you! getting married is kind of a big deal!  
TG: man i barely gave a shit about it why should you  
TG: nothing changes except how we do our taxes  
TG: we just got some badass ironic photos out of it  
TG: and a tacky vegas souvenir keychain or two  
TG: picked one up for you too dude dont worry <3  
GT: don't you <3 me!!!!!  
TG: fine more keychains for me  
TG: </3  
GT: you could have at least timed it better! during my birthday week, dude??  
TG: sorry dude i aint in charge of spring break  
TG: ill send you an extra keychain as a second bday present though  
TG: youre not legit mad at me are you  
GT: sigh. noooo, i'm just really disappointed here! i'd always figured i'd be there to support you when you tied the knot.  
GT: plus, until rose finds someone and gets gay married, you were like the only person whose wedding i wanted to attend!  
TG: wait you lie awake all night fantasizing about your friends weddings with a wistful sigh  
TG: dude you need hobbies  
GT: oh, ha ha, you're soooo funny, putting stupid words in my mouth that i never said.  
GT: just kidding. you are not funny at all, douchebag.  
GT: uuuugh, hang on. dirk just saw your new relationship status, so now i have to deal with THAT.  
GT: why are you two idiots so fucking dramatic about everything???  
TG: what  
GT: sorry. "ironic" about everything. durrrhhh.  
GT: brb!  
TG: no wait what the actual fresh fuck are you talking about  
TG: why does bro care terezi and i tied the knot for shits and giggles  
TG: is he mad i bought into the system even ironically  
TG: gdi john check your phone

You bonk your forehead against your phone. Great. You beat the other 98.2% of Americans and had a stress-free wedding, so obviously it can't go fucking smoothly in the aftermath.

You know what? Whatever. Not your problem if Bro's got his panties in a wad. You're enjoying yourself, Terezi's enjoying herself, and the Facebook reactions are hilarious. You're not letting family drag down the so-called happiest day of your life.

You kick back on the hotel bed and put on some TV.

Well, what else is there to do in Vegas? Chase mirages in the desert? You've got reruns of Golden Girls here. That's worth the cost of admission alone.

You watch more commercials than you watch Betty White before the door beeps to announce the other keycard holder has returned.

"You win anything, T'z?" you call, raising the remote to turn down the volume as she waltzes in to join you, still wearing her snazzy red tuxedo.

"Ten bucks!" she says, tossing her wallet onto the armchair before flopping onto the bed next to you.

"How much did you lose?"

"Twenty!" She rolls over until she bumps her head against your shoulder. "We're going to another buffet for dinner, right?"

"You didn't gamble away our life savings, so what the hell? Let's stuff our faces like proper American tourists." You sit up and deprive Terezi of her bony pillow, swinging your legs off the bed. "I'm pulling on pants though."

"Aw, but I like showing off my pretty new husband in his fancy wedding dress," she says with a smirk.

"I am quite the looker, but the joke got old after about ten minutes," you say as you tug the dumb thing off. You'll never regret your choice in minister, but reversing gender roles with Terezi lost its novelty the first time she nudged you to keep your knees together. "I could change my surname to Pyrope, though."

"Nah, Strider's cool."

"Hell yeah it is." You tug on a plain T-shirt and cotton has never felt softer. "You gonna join the Strider team then?"

"Oh, fuck no."

"Cool."

She leans over to take a peek at your cell phone, which you abandoned back on the mattress because dresses are fucking awful and don't come with pockets. "Hey, you have a new message from John's tart blueberry text. It says a bunch of blurry stuff."

"Yeah, he was pissed we eloped without inviting him."

Terezi cackles, rolling back onto the pillows. "You should have heard the messages I got. My dad's _flipping._ Mom thinks it's rad though. High praise from her."

You grunt, yanking on a fresh pair of jeans. "How's your brother taking it?"

"Sollux mostly insulted my taste in men."

"That's fair." You zip up and drop onto the bed again to retrieve your phone.

"Hey, you're better than my taste in women," she says with a crooked smile.

"I'm honored to have stepped over that low, low bar." You lean over and give her a peck on the lips. "Let me play damage control with the Texas toddlers and we'll go stuff our faces."

She grins. "And then we go swimming without waiting an hour."

"You know it," you say as you unlock your phone.

GT: pfffffffff...  
GT: okay, i think i am back now.  
TG: so what the fuck happened  
GT: i am not authorized to answer that and also it is none of your business.  
GT: boyfriend confidentiality is firmly in place!  
TG: why would something go down that needs confidentiality  
TG: you cant go baiting me with all these hints then reel them back just when im about to bite  
TG: either go for a big catch or take your rod and go home  
GT: maybe he feels bad that he's got such a bad relationship with you that he missed one of your big life achievements, dumbass!  
TG: yeah nah  
TG: he doesnt give half a fuck about sappy shit like weddings even if its ironic as hell  
GT: BLUH BLUH BLUH I'M A BIG STUPID STRIDER AND I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE ANSWER MY QUESTIONS. ALSO MY TASTE IN MOVIES TOTALLY SUCKS.  
TG: you misread him dude sall im saying  
GT: i already know he thinks weddings are stupid and pointless! he also thinks graduation ceremonies are boring and pretentious, but he yawned his way through mine anyway.  
GT: so, yeah! you're right! he DOESN'T care about sappy shit!  
GT: he cares about YOU, man!  
TG: so why aint i hearing this from him if youre not just projecting all these good ol fashioned feelings onto him  
GT: because he's being fucking stupid.  
GT: just like you are being fucking stupid. it is a bad habit you two share! maybe it's genetic!  
TG: sure dude  
TG: how bout you lay down some ancient egbert wisdom on me and show me the error of my ways  
GT: i know you are being sarcastic, but i'm going to answer you anyway because i DO have all kinds of ancient egbert wisdom.  
GT: if you're so confused that he cares about you, you should talk to dirk yourself.  
GT: and use words. preferably words that describe feelings.  
TG: k  
TG: but only if he goes first  
GT: grooooooooooooooooan.  
TG: ikr worst honeymoon ever  
TG: should never have left elvis behind  
TG: it sounded like a weird threesome but now look what happened without him around to watch our backs  
GT: dave, don't fuck strange elvises!  
TG: dont you kinkshame me  
TG: youre already marriageshaming me egbert what other shames have you learned to dole out from the internet  
TG: is it time for a callout post  
TG: callout for turntechGodhead that dudes just too fuckin cool and ran out of shits to give which is totally problematic  
TG: also he uses slurs and likes bad porn  
GT: oh my god, i'm not shaming you.  
GT: i am really happy for you actually! you and terezi are basically made for each other.  
GT: look, i'll lay off with the family drama stuff, okay? i don't want to wreck your honeymoon. even if it's probably ironic bullshit.  
TG: you know it is  
GT: just go have fun with your wife, dipshit. i'll send you judge-y messages once you are back home.  
GT: tell terezi congrats, okay?  
GT: and, um.  
GT: you are still my best friend and i still care about you. just in case you were worried.  
TG: i dont worry  
TG: but thanks for the thought

\-- ghostyTrickster [GT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 18:32 --

You sigh and stuff your phone into your pocket before someone else can hit you up for an awkward chatlog. "Man, they should warn people that the spirit of bridezilla will possess the rest of the fam to make up for the lack of drama if your actual bride is chill. Weddings suck."

Terezi tilts her head towards you, fiddling with the buttons on her sleeves. She really does look hella in a tuxedo. You should take her out dancing or to actual fancy dinners or something more often. "You regretting this, coolkid?" she asks.

You rest an arm around her shoulders. "Nah."

* * *

"How. Fucking. _Dare you?_ "

You just pull the apartment door open the rest of the way and step aside so Karkat can enter. It ain't the first time he's greeted you like this. "Dude, I didn't forget your souvenir."

"Souvenir?" he snarls, marching right up to you until your chests are an inch from touching. "You disappear up your own ass for five days, the first I hear of it is a goddamn wedding announcement on the unholy shitmobile of a website known as Facebook, and you think I care about a souvenir, you festering chunk of week-old toenail sludge?"

You're way too cool to step back from the embodiment of fury getting up in your grill, even if you kind of want to. "It's a mug with poker suits on it," you say. "Everyone else got keychains."

"If you're going to have a spat, close the door first," Terezi calls from the couch, a computer in her lap and a headphone in one ear because someone's an overachiever already back to schoolwork. "It's fucking cold out."

Karkat wrinkles his nose and shoots you the stinkeye, but he does give you enough personal space to get the door closed.

You rub the back of your neck. "Look, dude, we would have left a note, but we kinda forgot this would be a big deal to other people."

"It's _marriage!_ How do you forget that's a big fucking deal? How do you post your garbage wedding selfies to Facebook without once considering that you're stomping mud over a proud and sincere tradition of love?" He grasps his temples as if he has a searing headache. "For fuck's sake, how did you make a wedding _unromantic?_ "

Terezi sighs and snaps her laptop closed. "Dave's not trying to be an ass for once, Vantas. As far as we're concerned, the only thing different around here is that I get to wear a pretty red line on my finger now." She flaps her left hand at Karkat so her ring glimmers in the light. "Wanna see my pretty red line?"

Karkat draws himself up, his mouth turning into a thin line, before he lets out a huff. "Yes, I want to see your wedding band, offensively casual though it may be!" He stomps over to join her on the couch, his outrage edged out by a spark of curiosity in his eyes as he examines her finger. "Where did you even find red rings?"

"The Internet and its expedited shipping is a wondrous thing. My mom wanted me to hold out for a ruby, but we'll save that for an anniversary or something," she says, snickering. She raises her head and calls a bit too loudly, "Hey Dave, before I forget again, my parents want to meet you."

You cock your head. "What? Why?"

Both of them turn to stare at you. Karkat can't even bother with anger anymore -- it's given way to pure exasperation.

"Did you seriously think you wouldn't have to meet your in-laws, coolkid?" Terezi asks flatly.

"Should have married me instead, Dave," Karkat says, rolling his eyes as if you're just not worth the energy of his signature screaming anymore. "I've disowned my shitstick of a family." He should really sound more sarcastic than he does.

Was there seriously any doubt that Terezi got first dibs on marriage? Is it too late to avoid kicking his heart to the curb? "It was kind of a given that Terezi and I were gonna tie the knot eventually." You shrug. "We've been together long enough, we might as well make a grab at those sweet tax breaks."

Karkat takes a deep breath. "Yeah, I fucking know. You grad students with your fancy campus jobs and your aspirations for lucrative careers can afford to get hitched because you're going to graduate together and move away together and live a goddamn dream come true together." He curls his lip as his voice raises back to its normal ear-piercing volume. "Maybe your pure love will inspire a Disney cartoon in a hundred years. Of course _I'll_ be adapted into an evil troll with long horns and sharp teeth, but hey, maybe I'll get a cool villain song out of it!"

You wince. This would be a great time to reassure him that he's got it all wrong, that you're planning to stay in this shitty town forever with him, but that's a giant fucking lie. It's not that you meant to file this relationship away as temporary, but you sure as hell didn't prepare a filing cabinet that'd last you past graduation.

Terezi finally breaks the silence by murmuring, "Well, I _am_ Disney Princess material."

"Hey, uh..." You clear your throat just to give yourself another two seconds to formulate something halfway meaningful. "You want to go grab coffee? And a movie?"

Karkat gives you a long, weary stare. "Maybe later." He climbs to his feet, his shoulders sagging, and drags his feet to the door. "Instead of wasting your precious study hall with my inflated ego and glass-shattering voice, I need to go buy you two assholes a blender. And a nice fucking card."

You furrow your brow. "Why the fuck are you getting us a blender?"

"It's called a wedding present, jackoff!" he shouts before slamming the door closed behind him.

Terezi settles back into her spot, flips her laptop open, and adjusts her earbuds. "I think he's pissed."

You run a hand down your face. "I had not picked up on that."

"Maybe you should go chasing after him like in the movies while calling his name. He'd eat it up."

"He'd eat it up if I were Prince Charming, ready to verbally sweep him off his feet while doves fly overhead." You slump onto the armrest of the couch. "Dave Strider is probably not the guy he wants to deal with right now."

"Well, he is dating you," she says with a shrug. "He knows what kind of loser he signed up for."

You casually flip her off, as if she's even paying attention to you or your lame comeback. Well, _someone's_ fully aware of who she married, but you're not so convinced Karkat's got your number. How long has he been calling the wrong phone and neither of you realized why you weren't making a connection?

If you danced around the obstacle of incompatible sexual orientations only to fall flat on your face because someone never noticed you're an impulsive, careless douchebag, you're gonna pirouette off the fucking handle and land in a perfect split.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have another chapter because this story has taken way too long to write and I'd like to get closer to the ending.

Sleep is always a bitch the night before classes start back up. These are your last precious hours of freedom and you're going to waste them unconscious. Actually, you're going to waste them staring at the dark ceiling while Terezi snores softly beside you.

How many spring breaks do you have left at this point? One day it's gonna be April and you won't have any weeks off, because you'll be a Full-Fledged Adult who has a real job instead of a Trainee Adult who works at school.

Does that mean Karkat's beaten you to adulthood with his coffee shop job even though he's half a year younger than you?

You roll out of bed. If you're just going to get all existential, you might as well give up on the sleep thing.

You grab your phone out of habit, but you cringe as soon as the backlight hits your eyes. Didn't you read on Twitter that staring at a screen is the opposite of helpful for insomnia anyway? Which rules out... all of your preferred forms of distraction. You're down to staring at the wall or books.

You rub at your eyes. Your spring break goal of finishing Jurassic Park dropped to the curb as soon as you splurged on airline tickets. Maybe there's still time to read...

You snatch it up and flip through it.

...two hundred and fifty pages. Welp. You've got six hours to get this done. You've chugged through worse on tight deadlines.

You close the bedroom door so you don't disturb Terezi, then hit a lamp, curl up on the couch, and get your reading engines revving. You've got a long road ahead of you and no time for pit stops.

Twenty pages in and you're already yawning. Not even violence and dinosaurs can keep your eyelids from growing heavy in the face of text. You flip a page and squint to make out the notes in the margins, scrawled in sloppy handwriting. You'd probably get through the story faster if you ignored the previous owner's footnotes, but too late to change the habit now. "And here the homoerotic subtext between Gennaro and Muldoon is no longer possible to ignore," it reads, echoing a sentiment you're sure you've heard from somewhere. Was it Rose going on about shipping?

Your brain clicks like an old clock that had its first drop of oil in years and now the gears are cranking back to life. You sit up straight. Holy shit, you're a fucking idiot.

Spoilers be damned, you flip to the last page of the book, ignoring the printed text in favor of the farewell scrawl in the margins.

"And despite the blatant sequel hook, the actual sequel never addresses the dinosaurs that migrated to Costa Rica. The only reasonable explanation is that The Lost World is Ian Malcolm's dying fever dream, while Jurassic Park ends on the eve of the dinosaur apocalypse. I'm down with it."

A signature sits at the bottom of the page. You've never seen Bro go by "Di-Stri" before, but it's also been a longass time since his handwriting looked like this.

The bastard didn't grab you a dime store hand-me-down. He sent you a book from his personal collection, all marked up with ironic nuggets of wisdom. You were so busy assuming he'd never gift you anything of emotional value, it never hit you that it's no coincidence the previous owner was a snarky bastard.

A snarky bastard whose company you were enjoying.

Why didn't you fucking notice something so obvious? It's not the first time you laughed at his jokes. You used to live for them. You spent your childhood emulating him, picking up every scrap of wisdom he dropped off the floor and stuffing it in your face despite the germs.

You wanted him to notice you.

You wanted him to leave you alone.

You built forts with him.

You hid from him.

You idolized him.

You hated him.

You would have died and gone to heaven if he'd passed down one of his marked-up books to you.

You thought all adults were as distant and harsh as Bro.

Maybe they are. Rose's mom (your mom) is a fucking mess who could have lost her kid to CPS if anyone caught wind of her non-stop drunken stupors. Karkat won't have shit to do with his father. Who even knows what happened with John's biological parents that made them decide their kid belonged in the adoption system? Maybe Terezi is the weirdo, with her loving biological family who actually shows affection.

Bro's _trying_ to show affection lately. Probably. You can't read his motivations. Maybe you should make like Karkat and delete him from your phone.

Rose still puts up with her shitty parent, though. Shitty parent? Neglectful? Abusive? Does the exact term matter? Does it change whether Rose is resilient or an idiot for still loving her mom?

What the fuck are you feeling? And why do you even care? Feelings are for girls. (God, you're fucked up. Fuck, you need sleep.)

All you ever wanted was for him to reach out to you, and now that he has... You don't fucking know. Why can't he neatly fit into a box of love/hate instead of this weird, sticky mess of numerous emotions?

Your cell phone is in your hand and you don't even remember reaching for it. You should message Rose, let her excavate your upside down brain and cut it into tiny bite-sized pieces, but first she'd stab you with her knitting needles for waking her at three AM on a school night.

You tap the other TT in your contacts because you love making poor decisions.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 3:12 --

TG: can we talk   
TG: or is shit just going to be awkward until one of us croaks   
TG: i guess normally one would assume youre gonna be dying first since youre older and all but our age difference isnt even that drastic man i could easily go before you   
TT: Don't you fucking dare.   
TG: you cant tell me what to do   
TG: i went gray before you   
TG: now ill die of a stroke at sixty five just to spite your eighty year old ass   
TG: enjoy the funeral costs in forty years motherfucker   
TT: Is there a reason we're talking about your theoretical untimely death at two in the morning?   
TG: because youre acting weird and i dont want to pass from this world before i solve that mystery like im some kind of blond sherlock holmes   
TT: What, like Lord Peter?   
TG: like who the fuck   
TT: Blond Sherlock Holmes. That's Lord Peter Wimsey.   
TG: ...   
TT: The Dorothy Sayers character.   
TT: Learn to read, kid. Or see the movies, whatever.   
TG: since when do you read fancypants detective stories   
TT: I'm a media connoisseur, Dave.   
TT: I read everything, cool or not, to establish a thorough knowledge of my craft.   
TT: How else can you expect to become a master of irony without a solid foundation?   
TG: idk im having trouble caring anymore   
TG: look how do we   
TG: fuck   
TG: idek   
TG: nm   
TT: Dave?   
TG: forget i said anything well always be awkward

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 3:25 --

Sleep is always a bitch the night before classes start back up.

* * *

Karkat left a blender at your front door sometime last night. He probably wandered over during one of his signature insomnia attacks. Stupid bastard could have knocked. For once you were in the same boat, sailing in futile search for the edge of consciousness, and you wouldn't have said no to another crew member while your first mate snoozed -- you would have driven him home, at least.

He probably didn't want to take up the post of second mate anyway.

Maybe it's the sleep deprivation, but you can't shake the damn blender out of your mind as you drive to campus.

Why a fucking blender? Is it supposed to be symbolic? Does it stand for the blending of your multiple relationships into a chill smoothie, or for the hurt feelings you sliced into mush? Or has your irony just rubbed off on him and he found you the most generic wedding gift on the market for max hilarity?

Idiot forgot that Wednesdays are your random present exchange days, not Monday.

You shove your shades up to rub at your eyes. The only way you're surviving this day is a metric shitton of coffee.

* * *

A thin layer of snow has made its home on the campus lawn by late afternoon, with more still falling. This is the winter that never ends, apparently. Maybe it'll heat up by May. In the meantime, you tug your coat closer and make a run for it.

You'd feel more accomplished for surviving the school day -- class and meetings and warts and all -- if your mind didn't keep taking bathroom breaks with scenic routes on the way back. Turns out, if you're trying to think over both paleoparasitology and relationship issues at the same time, you end your class with a whole lot of nothing for both topics.

You're not due to finish school for another four years. _Minimum_. Why are your post-school life choices even relevant right now? So you haven't made plans to drag Karkat along to your next city. What does it matter when you don't even know where the hell that next city is?

Because you just made that commitment with Terezi, that's fucking why. Your cheap red wedding ring can't paint over that truth with irony. Your joke of a wedding still means that you're moving wherever she goes and vice-versa.

The sane thing to do is probably head for your car and catch some early Z's to get your brain rebooted in safe mode so you can troubleshoot the problem instead of lagging through it.

Except that computer analogy sucks, because safe mode isn't a form of running away from your problems. It's more like you're turning off the computer so you can ignore there's a shitty virus infecting it. You're gonna have to run the scan at some point or just chuck the whole broken mess into the garbage.

You plunge into Cappuccino Town and out of the cold. You're running the damn virus scan and talking to Karkat like a goddamn adult. Espresso will get you through this.

Because the universe never likes to be accommodating, the ex-mayor's the only one working behind the counter. Maybe Karkat's on break, or taking closing shift. At least no trip to Cappuccino Town is truly wasted if you get to trade a high-five with the ex-mayor. He's such a cool dude. Best guy to ever run a coffee shop after retiring from politics. Gives you the student discount without even asking for ID -- or, well, motioning for ID, with the mute going on and all.

You collect your coffee and high-five, then make your home at a corner table. You'll just re-read today's printouts until class makes sense while you wait.

You're gonna fuckin' handle this. You're gonna say something to Karkat and make shit better again. You don't know what you're gonna say, but you're sure it'll be rambling, vulgar, and awesome. You'll ask about the blender.

Maybe you should just message him, but you blather worse in text form than you do in person. At least in person, he can shut you up with his hand or his lips. God himself couldn't stop your fingers from jabbering until your red text hits Moby Dick-length. He'd have to smite you before your fingertips could be pried from the touchscreen, and even then your hand would probably fall on your phone in death, so who knows how much typo'd shit your corpse would send?

You rub your temple. If Karkat would like to show up any minute now, that'd be dope. Caffeine might keep you awake, but it's hell for keeping your brain calm.

* * *

"Wake up, punk!" someone shouts only feet away from you, but your eyes already shot open when the table trembled from the weight of some asshole pounding on it. "What time do you think this place closes?"

You raise your head and push your sunglasses back into place. "Uh..." You stare up at the cop glowering down at you. The rest of the coffee shop is empty, the chairs stacked on tables, and the ex-mayor is busting the remaining tables. The caffeine couldn't even keep you awake. "Midnight on weekdays, last I checked."

The cop crosses his arms. "And yet you're still here, breaking the rules as if they don't apply to you."

Just your luck to pass out in public on the night that the local hardass is patrolling the area. You weren't actually breaking a law, were you? Last thing you need is a mugshot for public napping. "Hey, chill out. It was an accident." You swipe your phone for the time as you snatch it from the table; it's only two fucking minutes after midnight. "Just let me grab my shit and I'll hightail it."

"You can't go against the rules without facing the consequences, bucko," he says, stepping in your path.

"Let the kid leave in peace," a feminine voice says. Your gaze follows it to the corner table opposite yours, where the ex-mayor's wife straightens up with a cleaning cloth in hand. "He's not causing trouble."

The cop bristles. "He's breaking _order!_ " he says as if you desecrated some kind of holy artifact.

"By five minutes." She tosses the cloth onto a dirty table as she makes her way over to him. "He's one of Karkat's friends, not some frat boy waiting to pull a prank."

The cop draws himself up to full height, for as little good as it does when the lady he's facing is a good head taller than him. " _That_ kid has no respect for authority either!"

"So what?" she asks. You gotta respect that chill. "I'd prefer someone who gets the job done over someone who's polite any day."

He scoffs. "That's easy for you to say. You can spend a whole day without talking to anyone. If you had to deal with the punks I run into on patrol..."

They both fall silent as the ex-mayor steps between them, his hands held up for peace and his mouth pointed in a stern scowl. He gives them both a firm shake of the head to show his disapproval. Even the cop rubs the back of his neck in the face of the ex-mayor's silent charisma.

"All right, I'll make an exception, but don't blame me if this goes to his head and next time he goes on a crime spree," the cop grumbles, ducking his head.

The ex-mayor relaxes and nods, going on his tiptoes to give his wife a reconciling peck on the cheek, then turns to give the cop an identical kiss.

It ain't polite to stare, but you're totally staring. It's only when the cop turns his stern gaze back on you that you remember to swing your bag over your shoulder.

"Get home, kid," he says. "Just stay out of trouble."

"Sure thing, officer," you say, unable to tear your eyes from the trio as you make your way to the door. They're standing so close together. Karkat had said the ex-mayor was in a threeway, but you kinda figured he was fucking with you.

The cold wind slaps your face once the door's done playing your bodyguard. The snow's not even to your ankles, but your shoes make small caves beneath them as you dart back to the school parking lot. Nights like this, you get why Terezi takes the bus instead of carpooling with you. You don't trust your Texan driving skills in this mush either. At least the streets are dead.

You slide the key into the ignition as soon as you reach the car and crank up the heat, then flop back against your seat with a sigh, waiting for the engine to warm up and your head to stop spinning.

You've never had a run-in with the fuzz like that -- "because you're white," Terezi would probably remind you -- but the lingering anxiety isn't hitting as strong as the shock that you got rescued from an unjustified arrest because the couple who own Cappuccino Town are fucking the cop. For that matter, the cop was probably only there at midnight in the first place so he could see his boyfriend-girlfriend combo lovers.

You slide a hand through your bangs. They're a bunch of grownass adults with jobs and a marriage and probably a house with the mortgage paid off. It's the traditional quiet American life, just with one extra adult around.

And don't it look so damn simple now that you've seen it in practice?

You reach for your phone. Fuck the blender. You know what you need to tell Karkat.

"Why the fuck are you calling an insomniac past midnight?" he demands on the third ring. "Do you know how violently I would murder you if I had actually managed any sleep and you disturbed me from it?"

You let your breath out and it floats away on the cold air. "I love you. Move in with us when your lease is up."

There's a short silence. "What?" Karkat says.

"Wherever Terezi and I end up after we're done with school, I want you to be there too, so just fucking move in with us. I'll get the green light from her as soon as she's awake tomorrow."

"Oh, so you'll risk waking _me,_ but not her!"

It's so tempting to quip back, maybe trade an insult or five, but you can save it for later. Right now it's all about being his goddamn romance novel love interest and sweeping him off his feet. "Hey, she can always use her veto power in the morning, but right now I need to fucking tell you already that I love you."

"Dave..." is all Karkat says. You actually stunned the guy silent with all this corny shit, so you've gotta be doing something right here.

"I figured I should suggest the 'move in with us' angle while I was already talking to you, but the point is I don't give a fuck if I'm bi or straight with an exception or what. Maybe I'm fucking gay and Terezi is my exception. My orientation doesn't matter when we've already established that I want to be with her and I want to be with you."

"That's probably the most romantic thing you've ever said in your entire life," he said, his voice thick and tilting up in pitch.

Your eyebrows go up. "Dude, are you crying?"

"Fuck you," he chokes out.

"Is that a yes?" you ask, smirking.

"Of course it is, you rusty barrel of centuries old horseradish! So fucking sue me if I'm a little goddamn emotional right now!" he shouts, followed by some loud sniffing. "Dammit, why are we having this conversation over the phone?"

"Because it's past midnight." You chuckle and sit up straight, waving your hand in front of the vents to make sure the engine's all warmed up. "I'm about to drive home from campus though, if you want me to swing by."

"Why the fuck are you still at campus this late?"

"Eh. Reasons." You pull on your seatbelt. "Cool reasons."

"Just get over here so I can shove you into a wall and stick my tongue down your bullshit-spewing throat, Strider!"

You put the car into gear. "Can do."

* * *

Terezi lowers her coffee and furrows her brow. "Wait, it's not that you didn't _want_ him to move in, it's that you hadn't _thought_ of it?"

"I mean, it didn't really seem like a viable option before now." You shrug, ducking your head to study the bowl of Lucky Charms in front of you. You've got like twice as many horseshoe marshmallows as any other. "We don't exactly see many threesome role models on TV."

She bursts into a cackle and nudges your foot from under the table. "Just figure out how to arrange this threesome in a one-bedroom apartment and we can invite your loudass boyfriend in, coolkid."

* * *

You take a deep breath. You're doing this. You're making this happen like a motherfuckin' adult who can make big boy decisions and doesn't let drama stew for so long that the broth boils out and the potatoes turn black. You're confronting all the shit.

You're a month from your master's degree -- just another four to six years for that elusive doctorate -- and your boyfriend is moving in this summer. Never has there been a better time for snipping off loose ends.

You just need a little backup. Someone who's more prone to sympathy than Rose but who already knows your tragic family background.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] at 14:48 --

TG: yo i need a favor   
GT: well, for you, dave, i will charge only two sardines.   
TG: done   
TG: youll have your shitty fish in your account by sundown tomorrow   
TG: so i need a guy killed   
GT: whoa, hey!!!   
GT: killing someone?? that's more like EIGHT sardines, dude!   
TG: shit man you drive a hard bargain   
TG: how about six sardines and half a bottle of aj   
GT: weeeeell, you're being kinda cheap, but i'll hear you out since you're my best friend and all.   
GT: what's going on?   
TG: come visit me   
TG: and bring my   
TG: dude   
TG: with you   
GT: your... dude, dude?   
GT: you mean dirk?   
TG: right   
GT: oooooookay, it's time to turn off the dumb strider bullshit hour. tell me what's actually up, jerkoff.   
GT: and no stupid metaphors!!   
TG: its nothing   
TG: well i guess its something   
TG: but its nbd   
GT: dave.   
TG: ok kinda a bd   
GT: dave, stop stalling.   
TG: only if you jumpstart my engines cos my batterys fresh out of juice and these keys arent worth shit   
GT: i said no metaphors! they are officially banned in the name of getting to the stupid point in a timely fashion!   
GT: shut up and tell me what's going on.   
TG: thats an oxymoron if i ever saw one   
GT: what's that, dave? you want me to sic rose on you??   
TG: whoa ok chill dont call the hounds   
TG: im just trying to be an adult and tackle the weirdass drama surrounding my older male family member   
GT: so if my bullshit translator is working... that means you want to make up with dirk?   
TG: thats exactly what i said man i want to make out with bro   
GT: uh...   
TG: FUCK

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] at 15:03 --

GT: dave, get back here!!!   
GT: your typo was hilariously inappropriate, but it's okay! you can't hear me laugh at it over pesterchum!   
GT: dave, c'moooon, i know you do not want to kiss your dad.   
GT: he's too busy kissing me anyway. (heheh.)   
TG: omfg stop saying things   
GT: fine, then you talk! what do you need so you can make AMENDS with dirk?   
TG: i wish i fucking knew   
TG: maybe just   
TG: come visit so we dont have to do it over the phone   
TG: cos the phone isnt working   
GT: that's a favor i can do.   
GT: jeez, was it so hard to spit that out??   
TG: ive got so much spit in this mouth that it can only come out in awkward gobs   
TG: didnt seem polite to hack that up in front of a sensitive soul such as yourself   
GT: gross.   
TG: exactly   
TG: but uh   
TG: dont tell bro i needed to ask you that   
TG: just tell him   
TG: that we need help rearranging furniture to make space for a third roomie and youre coming to our rescue   
GT: i'll tell him i missed your dumb face and he's coming with me so i don't miss his dumb face. it's not untrue.   
TG: youre a life saver egbert   
GT: pfft. man, it's what friends do.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in one week? Sure, why not? (I'm not actually writing as fast as it looks. I wrote these pretty slowly; I just edited them into a readable draft close together.)

It's a dark and stormy night. Can snowfall count as stormy? Fuck it, you're counting it. The point is, driving home is gonna be a bitch.

Beyond some minor concern about the frozen shit pelting the windows, you're surprisingly chill. Maybe it's the periodic reminder over the intercom to report suspicious baggage that plays every five minutes. They want you to shit yourself in fear of theoretical terrorists? Fuck them, you'll be the most indifferent motherfucker this airport has ever known. It will fucking bow down to your indifference and crown it king. Long live your badass ways. No potentially explosive baggage will faze your throne.

John Egbert fazes it a little, but even you deserve some leeway when you go from scrolling Twitter to stumbling from a surprise tackle-hug. He's got a lot of punch for such a small bastard.

"Okay, I realize a greeting this lame only comes natural to you," you say, keeping your limbs by your sides to spite his embrace, "but next time gimme a fuckin' heads up."

He just grins wider. "That's what you get for not paying attention, bro. You get owned by a hug." He raises his gaze and his eyebrows go up with it. "Holy shit, dude, what happened to your hair?"

"I'm fine, thanks," you say flatly. Your grays show up better in-person than they do in your selfies -- your filters make sure of that -- but no one said he has to mention it. You shove a hand against his face. "And how have you been, asshole?"

John huffs, finally relenting his grip as you push him away. "Excuse me for getting distracted when you've got more silver than Dirk does!"

"Bro's got grays?" you ask, lowering your arm in surprise.

"Yeah, we find a new one every-" Before John can share the important deets, Bro's gloved hand plops itself over John's mouth and cuts his words into incoherent mumbles.

All these years and Bro can still startle the shit out of you, even when you know damn well he has to be nearby.

"Sorry, but I'm cutting this conversation short," Bro says. He tugs John away from you, paying no heed to John batting at his wrist. "Maybe it'll save you a couple bucks on parking."

You snort, though it's forced -- a weak attempt to hide your shock before anyone notices you fell off your game. "Yeah, we better make like Michael Jackson and beat it before they start charging me by the minute."

"We're moonwalking to the parking lot?" John says, prying his face free from Bro's grip.

"That's so stupid it circles all the way around to still being stupid," you say, "so no."

"Dave, stop being such a boring lame guy who can't have any fun," John says as he makes good on the moonwalks -- loath as you are to admit it, he's not half bad at it for a dweeb who can't dance. He gestures for you to join in.

"Sorry, it's in my contract." You walk past him because you're the only one here who knows where the car is parked. "Can't do public moonwalks without a severe penalty for dipping below my coolness levels. My agent would throw a fit if she knew I was even in the presence of a dork embarrassing himself at the airport."

John points both index fingers at Bro. "Dirk, bust a move!"

Bro slings his carry-on over his shoulder, but he keeps his normal pace. "Sorry, John. I save dance moves for parties, not airports."

John sighs in exaggeration, rolling his eyes so far it's a wonder they don't unscrew right out of his head. "You both suuuck."

Better than last time, at least. John making a dumb scene is familiar chaos, which is ten times cozier than the foreign affection Bro laid on you in an airport almost a year ago. You'd pass out brownie points for the comfortingly consistent behavior from your visitors, but you don't got any wood handy to knock on.

* * *

"And no undergrad has dared to call me Mrs. Strider since!" Terezi says, clasping her hands together and leaning forward in her chair.

John edges closer to Bro on the couch, giving her a disturbed stare that she'd probably take as a badge of pride if she could see it. He ought to be used to her morbid humor by now, but sometimes he's a little slow like that.

Bro doesn't even twitch, let alone draw away, but he says, "Remind me to never get on your bad side."

She flashes a toothy grin. "Don't call me missus and we're probably good."

"Wasn't plannin' on it."

"So hey! We should talk about something not-creepy," John says before the conversation can continue. He shoves Bro in the shoulder. "Dirk, save us by saying stuff to Dave instead."

Smooth, John. Real smooth. You asked him to have your back for this family reunion, but maybe you should have specified that your back can still do most of the talking. You'd facepalm, but Bro would notice and, unlike some people, you have some fucking tact.

"You wanna get more specific than 'stuff'?" Bro asks.

John shrugs. "I mean, you Striders always like blathering, right?"

God dammit, John, stop helping.

You slide off the armrest that probably didn't appreciate being used as a seat. "Actually, I was about to make coffee." Better to abscond now than stick around long enough to witness John poorly imitate Rose's family therapist shtick. "Terezi, tell 'em about that street preacher we ran into in Vegas. They'll get a laugh out of that."

John scrambles to the edge of the couch and leans after you. "Dave, get back here!" he says, lowering his voice but not coming even close to a whisper. "I'm trying to do you a solid!"

"Hey, Egbert!" Terezi says, coming to your rescue and waving for attention. "We should have bought a cake or something for your arrival! Escort my blind ass to the nearest grocery store so I can correct this hostess faux pas!" Her acting is hammier than John's, but she's sure enjoying the performance.

John wrinkles his nose. "Man, just make your husband do it later. I have taken a solemn vow to never abet anyone in the obtaining of the overused and overrated dessert known as cake."

Her mouth slopes into a frown. "Sometimes you're so thick that I kind of want to kill you, John."

"Oh my god, why are you so violent all the time?" John says with a groan to the heavens.

"I dunno!" Terezi says, hopping out of her seat to fetch their coats with renewed chipperness. "Walk me to the store or I'll kick your ass!"

"Just roll with it, John," you say. "You know she's relentless."

He shoves himself to his feet. "Fiiine, I will be a gentleman and escort Mrs. Violent on her dumb midnight snack run!"

"That's _Ms._ Violent, dickface!" she says as she marches out the door with John trailing her. Any further bickering fades into the cold outdoors.

Well, you're home alone with an awkward douchebag, but at least John's not around to shove you at each other. Now you can talk like reasonable adults at your leisure.

You leave to make the coffee.

The standard metaphor for this is probably something about ripping off a bandaid, but the thing is, ripping one of those suckers off fucking hurts. It's way easier on the pain receptors to gently nudge your fingernails under the adhesive and pry it off millimeter by millimeter. You need to be patient and work up to the complete bandage removal, maybe even add water to loosen the glue.

He's here in your house. (Apartment. Whatever.) That's like getting your nails in place. Now you just gotta start tugging.

"You want some?" you call once the coffee maker bubbles and steams.

"Sure," Bro says, the first word he's uttered since you left the room. "Black's fine."

See? Progress. You offered coffee like a genuine diplomat. You both keep quiet as you step out to hand him a mug, but you're too cool for the boring pleasantries of "thanks" and "you're welcome." He leans back on the couch and you settle against the wall, ignoring your drinks.

He sets his mug on the end table. "So. I figure you want to talk."

You take a sip just to avoid an immediate answer. With your eyes behind shades and your mouth behind a mug, the only facial feature left for him to overanalyze is your nose and even he won't get far there. "Depends on how you define 'want.' I want to talk like I'd want to get my appendix out, but if shit's about to explode, then yeah, I'd rather go under the knife sooner than later."

"Then what's bothering you enough that you'd equate it to a life-or-death medical operation?"

You press your mouth into a line, but even after pausing to gather your thoughts, the words you blurt out are still, "Why have you been acting so fucking weird?"

"I've been accused of weirdness my whole life," he says, his shades aimed straight at you. He's probably summing you up. Judging. "You got something more specific in mind?"

You run a hand through your bangs. "You're all nice to me and shit."

His mouth twitches from its line of indifference almost into a frown. "That's weird?"

"Coming from you, yeah!" You throw your arm in the air and almost slosh yourself with coffee. "You've always kept me at five arm's lengths away. I barely heard from you after I moved. It's like you never even liked me."

He's quiet for too long. Even when he speaks up, he takes each word slow. "That was me fucking up. This is me trying to do better by you."

"No, see, that's exactly what I'm talking about." You jam a finger his direction. "That's the weird, right there." Your legs move into a restless pace back and forth without your input. Here you are losing your chill, all according to plan except the opposite. You should have waited until John got back for this. "Why are suddenly trying to be better? Why do you care? What the fuck do you even _want?_ Wh-"

"I want to be your dad!" he snaps.

You come to an abrupt halt, spilling coffee over the edge of the mug and onto your fingers. Maybe it's hot. You aren't paying attention. "What."

He hides his face behind a hand but not before you catch him cringing. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't even be here." He shoves off the couch and makes for the front door. "I'm a shitty person and you're better off without me," he says before he disappears.

You stare after him, your mouth hanging open. " _What._ "

* * *

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] at 21:09 --

TT: I fucked up.   
GT: grooooan.   
GT: what happened this time?   
TT: Doesn't matter. Get back here so we can move to a hotel.   
GT: dirk, what'd you do?   
TT: Fucked up royally enough that we're never coming back.   
GT: wait what? did you do something to dave?!   
GT: dirk, what the hell is going on???   
TT: I told him I was his dad.   
GT: ......................   
GT: i am going to hit you with a shoe.   
TT: I said I fucked up.   
GT: dirk.   
GT: i am about to tell you something very important that no one has apparently been smart enough to lay on you before...   
GT: YOU   
GT: *ARE*   
GT: DAVE'S   
GT: DAD!!!!!!   
TT: John, for fuck's sake, we've been over this.   
TT: In all but genetics I am his goddamn older brother.   
GT: DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!   
GT: YOUR DADNESS IS REALITY. GET OVER IT, NUMBNUTS.   
GT: if you admitted that to him, then ABOUT FUCKING TIME!!!   
GT: the only way you're fucking this up is by pestering me instead of following that revelation up with a tender fatherly embrace!   
TT: Oh, god no.   
TT: Striders don't do that sappy bullshit regardless of family status.   
GT: DIRK!   
GT: go back to your son right fucking now and tell him you love him!!   
TT: Hell no!   
GT: oh my god, i will KICK YOUR ASS.   
TT: I'd like to see you t   
TT: Gotta run.   
GT: ????   
TT: It's Dave.

* * *

"Even you can't fucking walk all the way back to Houston, dude," you call as you make your way through the snow by streetlight. The sun's long gone down and a light flurry keeps dropping wet shit on your shades, but at least the breeze is weak. "The human body can only take so much walking."

Bro slows to a stop but keeps his back to you. A cell phone screen glows in his hand. "I'm just circling the neighborhood until John's back."

"Why?" You scowl. "So you can run away with him to a hotel again?"

He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. "Isn't that preferable?"

You take a deep breath, letting the cold hit the back of your throat. "What's the point of inviting you up here if you're just gonna duck out when shit gets awkward?" What's the point in summoning the courage to face him if he's the coward running away? "Can we just talk about this without being too damn stoic and aloof and avoidant to address anything already?"

"Talk about what?"

"I don't fucking know, the estrangement thing we've got going on?" You shrug and lower your gaze. Your boot almost fits in his footprint. "It kinda sucks ass."

He turns to face you, for as much difference as it makes with his unreadable line of a mouth and hidden eyes. "Do you actually want me in your life at this point?"

"Maybe?" You cringe and rub the back of your neck. Great fucking answer. Are you allergic to commitment or what? Can you get some antihistamines in here already? "You weren't really in my life before this, that's for damn sure."

He's silent again, mulling over his response or wondering how he's related to a pathetic douche like you or something. "I'm sorry."

It's your turn to go quiet, but only because you figure he's not really stopping there. There's gotta be more to it. What the fuck do you do with an apology? How are you supposed to clear up this mess if all he gives you is two words? "Is that all you've got to say?"

"What else is there to say?" he asks. "Do you want me to rattle off excuses as if they justify any of it?"

"Maybe I do." You march into his space and for a split second you think he might actually step back, but he holds his ground after the initial waver. "Maybe I want to hear in your own words why you were such a colossal fuck-up back when I was too young to even comprehend how bad shit was."

"I didn't know what the fuck to do with kids." He turns his head away. "I still don't. I had no damn business raising one, but I kept you anyway because I'm a selfish prick who didn't want to give you up to someone more competent." He tugs at his sleeves so they better cover his wrists. If you didn't know better, you'd mistake it for fidgeting. "I knew I had to be fumbling, but I didn't pinpoint how badly until I had John pulling faces whenever I told him about your childhood."

"So it's John." Your shoulders slump. "He's the difference between your aloof bullshit and this past year's freaky attempts at sincerity."

"The difference is that you're a grownass adult and I've got some idea of what makes adults tick," Bro says, turning his hidden gaze back on you. He lifts an arm, then thinks better of it and drops it to his side. "I figured by now it was too little, too late. John pushed me to try anyway."

"Yeah, it was too damn late. John's an optimistic idiot like that," you mutter, stepping away to regain some breathing room. Is shit getting better or worse? You're trading feelings, which is awful, but Rose would probably give you a thumbs up for it, so maybe it's the right direction. "I'm so used to your fucking curveballs that I assumed you were aiming to break my nose the first time you tried to toss me an easy catch."

You could probably make a sound-proof room out of this snow, if it wouldn't get water all over the carpet, 'cos you don't even hear a peep of ambient noise. The silence begs you to break it like a scab begs to be scratched, but for once in your life you refuse to speak. You don't know what you want to hear, but it ain't your own voice.

Bro finally says, "Do you want me to just leave you alone for good, kid?"

That isn't what you wanted to hear either. "I've been wondering that all fuckin' year and haven't settled on a conclusion yet." You turn to face him head-on, straightening so that he towers over you a couple inches less than usual. "I ain't scared of you and I don't need anything from you, though, so something else is pulling me back like an emotional bungie cord." You sigh. Your breath couldn't be more visible in the cold night air if you were smoking five cigarettes at once. "I guess that means I want you to stick around more than I want to kick you down the stairs."

Bro considers you for a moment, but he only keeps the dreaded silence in play for a few seconds this time. "Feel free to go for both."

You snort out of surprise. Why's he gotta tempt you like that? Stairs are serious shit. You can't be held responsible for what happens to anyone near those. You probably don't want to accidentally break your bro's neck either. "Can I just punch you?" you ask.

"Yeah, that's acceptable."

You punch him in the chest, landing a blow just below his right shoulder. He doesn't even stumble backwards, let alone flinch, and you're the one who grunts. It's a cathartic half a second all the same. It's like you unleashed all the tension in your shoulders by shoving it out through your fist.

You brace for a counterattack on instinct, but it never comes. Instead he just says, "I taught you to aim for the solar plexus."

You wave your knuckles off. "Yeah, I've been playing by the beat of my own drum for a while. It's a pretty sick rhythm." You pause. Up this close, you can't miss that his cold indifference leans more on the cold side of things. "Jesus, dude, you're shivering like a Hawaiian in Alaska."

He frowns. "I am fucking not." He so fucking is. The dumbass hasn't even zipped up his weakass Texan jacket, probably because he'd lose face for admitting he needs the warmth after you caught up to him.

You catch the zipper and tug it all the way to his throat. "You gotta get a better coat if you wanna regularly visit up here, bro."

"How the fuck do you live like this?" he mutters, rubbing his hands together to generate heat. He could also use gloves that actually cover his fingers.

"It's a pretty good excuse to exchange body heat with the wife and boyfriend, for one," you say with a smirk. "For another, motherfuckin' layers." You clap his shoulder. "Let's get back to the land of lightbulbs and temperature control before I have to explain to John why his boyfriend is a snowbro."

Your old footprints are already fading as you retrace your path back towards the apartment. If it keeps up all night, you might get snowed in tomorrow. John and Terezi better not fall in a snowbank on their way back from the store.

So now what? Is it over? Have you officially mended your broken family ties? Could you get an Xbox Achievement to pop up over here and assure you that the deed is done? Cue the "boop" sound effect. Rare Achievement unlocked: A-bro-logies.

There's no boop; there's just an awkward silence because you still don't know what to do with the guy next to you, even if you don't hate him.

You clear your throat. "If we're done lying about our familial ties, does that mean I'm supposed to change up what I call you?"

"No," he says immediately, only hesitating afterwards as he twists his mouth into an unfamiliar uncertainty. "I mean... Shit, I guess if you want to?"

You shrug. "Bro's cool."

"That was the idea."

Yeah, and it was also a dumb idea, but like hell a Strider can admit that. Lucky you, you've got another asshole to pin it on. "According to the Gospel of John Egbert, family's not actually meant to be cool, Dad." You regret that last syllable the instant it tumbles out of your mouth. Bro doesn't react, but the word sits strangely on your tongue. It's forced and unnatural, like trying to eat a block of wood. "Am I a hypocrite if that was too goddamn weird to repeat?"

"Nah," he says, his voice breathy. "If you got any hangups with father labels, you can blame it on me."

"I was already planning on it." You keep your pace slow and steady. It's not a long walk back home, so you better milk this moment alone for all its worth if you want to finish packing up all your spilled baggage. Addressing your dad like he's your brother gets a suitcase all to its bigass self. "I'll just call you motherfucker."

Bro snorts and slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle his sudden onset of a very serious affliction called laughter. Hella contagious disease. You've already caught it too.

It's not exactly the funniest joke in your arsenal, but it's not about how hard it hits so much as where it hits. You struck him in the solar plexus after all, even if it ricocheted back onto you.

"Hey," you say once you and Motherfucker turn the laughs down to sporadic giggles. "How 'bout going halfway? Drop the brother label and just call you by name."

"If that's what works for you, kid." He clears his throat, banishing the last of the laughter and returning his face to indifference just in time to save his cool image as you reach the porch.

"I'm too old to go by 'kid,' you fuckin' Dragon's Lair protagonist," you say as you fumble to unlock the front door.

It's quiet when you push the door open and step into the warm air. Maybe the grocery store's got a long line, or Terezi got distracted with a new red candy. (Seriously, they better not make you send out a search party in this weather.)

Or maybe you should have expected the objects hurling at you as two assholes spring up from their hiding spot behind the couch.

"Sneak attack!" Terezi shouts, which would be just about the stupidest thing to shout if her projectile weapon hadn't splattered against your chest half a second faster than her warning hit your ears.

In retrospect, leaving John alone with cake was probably a stupid idea. Not that you're thrilled with icing smearing down the front of your coat or anything, but you'll count your blessings that Terezi threw low by six inches. Bro's assailant is the resident expert at launching cakes through the air. Not even Bro can dodge John's signature pie-in-the-face.

"God dammit, John," Bro says, tugging off his frosting-coated shades. His bare eyes only heighten the absurdity of the cake still stuck to the rest of his face.

John's laughing so hard that he's gotta have taken two years off the life of his lungs. You gotta keep a pretty firm hold of your poker face if you don't want to join in and giggle like the startled asshole you are or gape at the bare eyes you've never seen in living memory. John was right: Bro's eyes are orange. Dirk's eyes. Fuck, that name's gonna take some getting used to.

You retrain your focus on your own dignity. Don't think about how dumb Bro- Dirk looks; remember that you're also a victim of this uncool prank, even if Terezi's aim sucks. "Guys, what the actual fuck," you say, fumbling for your coat's zipper beneath the layer of cake.

"John's teaching me his alternate uses for cake!" Terezi says with a wide grin.

John huffs and holds his head high. "It is also the _superior_ use for cake."

"I'll grant you that only if Dave lets me lick it off," Terezi says, making her way over to you.

"It's kinda on my coat, so if you want lint to go with your icing..." You unzip to shed the ruined garment, but Terezi already shifts directions before you can offer it to her.

"I'll just help Mr. Strider clean up then," she says.

You catch her shoulder -- as if Bro would need your help fighting her off, but it's the principle of the thing. "Don't lick your father-in-law!"

"Well, John's not going to do it!" she says with an exasperated sigh. "He'd have to ingest cake!"

"I'd rather eat cake than let you lick my boyfriend!" John says. Terezi is so the only thing that could make him drop his amusement at maxing his prankster gambit this fast.

Bro... _Dirk_ raises a hand for silence. "Chill." He moves past you to head for the bathroom. "I'll use a fuckin' towel."

"You Striders are so wasteful." Terezi shakes her head and licks at a dallop of icing still on her fingertip. "This is good cake."

"Then you shouldn't have fucking thrown it at me," you say, examining the damage. Yeah, you're not wearing this again tonight. Icing better not stain; winter coats are fuckin' expensive.

John rolls his eyes and flops back to sit on the top of the couch. "Pfft, I was doing you a favor and giving you some common ground. Now you can both bond as losers who totally got pranked together!"

"We already bonded, you tardy dumbass," you say, surrendering your coat to Terezi when she tugs at a sleeve. No accounting for those tastebuds of hers. "Hallmark fuckin' wishes it had been filming our precious moment for its next movie."

John gives you the stink eye. "Bullshit. You probably had a rap battle."

"Shit, you hear that, Dirk?" you call down the hall. "We could have had a touching rap battle!"

"We had enough shit going on tonight. Save the rap battle for next time we gotta reconcile." He steps out of the bathroom, wiping his face off on a wet hand towel, though most of the cake muck is gone already. "I'm sure we've got at least one more stupid argument up our sleeves."

He's given you a wide opening for a witty asshole response, but you're too busy gawking at the clear view of his face. Seeing his eyes alone was bad enough, but with neither shades nor icing hiding him, he looks like an actual fuckin' human being with emotions instead of the cool robotic creature you grew up with.

John facepalms. "Oh my god, did you seriously switch to calling your dad by his _name?_ "

You shake out of your stupor and shoot John a smirk. "You're just jealous 'cos your dad doesn't even have a name."

John snorts, but before he can fire off a weak comeback, Terezi smacks the back of her hand against his shoulder.

"John, shut up and let the dumb boys take their baby steps. The important thing is that we have cake." She raises your cake-splattered coat triumphantly.

"How the hell are you still eating that?" John says, pulling a face of utter disgust so pure that you could gif it and turn it into a meme. "I didn't think it was possible to make cake worse than it already is, but you just managed it. Good fucking job, Terezi."

"You seriously get off on dating a dude who has issues over baked goods?" you ask as Dirk draws near.

"Yours is eating off a coat," Dirk says, stopping next to you.

You click your tongue. "Touche." You slump against the wall, watching Terezi and John duke it out like a couple of preschoolers on the playground. "He seems happy with you for some reason."

Dirk sighs and lowers the towel. "Yeah. For some reason."

"I mean, he basically likes everybody, so it's not much of a compliment." You tilt your head. "S'cool, though, that you haven't broken my best friend's heart. I figured you two were fucking doomed."

"He hasn't wised up yet," he says without a hint of humor, like he actually means it.

"Eh." You reach over and give his arm a nudge. "Or maybe you have some okay traits."

His mouth gives away nothing, but his eyes widen for a split second as if he's forgotten you can see them now. He folds over the towel so it's on a clean side before he dabs it under your chin, wiping off a splatter of icing you didn't even know was there. "Crazier shit has happened."

* * *

Dirk turns your ammonite fossil over in his palm. "So if I understand the last ten minutes of science babble correctly," he says when you pause for breath, "I'm _not_ holding a carcass here."

"Nah, you're holding a rock that's cosplaying as a carcass," you say, picking up the new topic like you're the one who dropped it and you meant to drop it and you chose this exact moment to pluck it from the ground. "It's such an accuracy-obsessed cosplayer that we can still study it to learn about the real deal, but anything original from that mollusc is long gone. Fossils as old as this fucker are just stone castings. It just sounds cooler to call them bones anyway." You pace over to your shelf -- the one coated in cool shit, not textbooks. "You want to hold an actual corpse, though, I got you covered." You snap up a jar full of preserved scorpion and place it in his other hand.

"Now shit's hardcore," he says, lifting his arm as if weighing the specimen.

You smirk. "Hell yeah it is. I should've tried out for animal undertaker instead of paleontologist, but they don't really teach degrees on that so I'll save it for a hobby. Maybe I'll collect the dead birds that fly into windows like dumbasses. Clean off their skeletons and sell the skulls on Etsy. Does that count as homemade or do the bones need to come from my own body?" You've got your mouth open to continue the ramble, but your tongue takes an unexpected detour when you catch a glimpse of Dirk's expression. "What the fuck are you smiling about?"

"How long you can talk with only the slightest provocation," he says. His mouth is ninety-eight percent straight, but that remaining two percent remains lifted in a smile. "You must've inherited that from me."

You grunt, crossing your arms. "You mean my mom isn't wordier than a dictionary?"

"Nah, that's a Strider trait. She's just regular talkative." He holds the scorpion up to the light. "You got her head for science, though."

You chew your lower lip. It's not like you didn't know Rose's mom is a computer genius, but you hadn't really connected that to your major. Either way, Dirk doesn't know that you know who his ill-advised high school sweetheart is and you're not about to drop it on him here. "Here I figured my inclination towards the nerdy came from mutant genes. How else would a dude as cool as I am voluntarily land in school for ten fuckin' years?" You run your hand over the back of your neck, staring at the wall. "I probably should have applied to film school instead."

"Why?"

"It suits my style. I could've turned my dumb comic into a movie and exposed the mainstream masses to its glorious shittiness," you say with a forced grin. "Films are way more awesome than labs and dig sites anyway."

"I don't think you made a bad call." He holds the ammonite back to you. "You love this nerd shit, don't you?"

You take the fossil and cup your hands over it. "It ain't that cool."

"So what?" He gets to his feet, leaving the scorpion on the bed. "I perfected coolness and I'm such a goddamn mess that my kid figured I was fucking with his head when I tried to bond with him like a normal parent." He raises a hand, hesitates, then catches your shoulder anyway. When you don't shy back, he increases the pressure into an actual squeeze. "If you don't follow in my ironic footsteps, then good fucking riddance. You deserve better than cool, Dave."

You swallow. A year ago, you'd probably have flipped out at him. What kind of asshole just gives you a free pass on your uncool hobbies? The kind of asshole who asked you about your schoolwork and let you ramble to him about shit he didn't understand without interrupting, that's what kind.

You gesture at your shelf. "You wanna see the rest of my unironic dead shit collection?"

His mouth quirks a full ten percent into a smile. Maybe even fifteen percent. "If that's your jam, show me every cosplaying rock you've got."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote bits and pieces of this chapter aaages ago, so it's a relief to finally write the context around them and post it all. lol The final chapter has already been sent to the betas, so barring an emergency there shouldn't be much of a delay on the next update.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand, as hoped, the final chapter didn't take long to get beta read at all. If you haven't checked in on this fic in a while, make sure you didn't miss a chapter, as this will be the fourth posted in about a week. :)

\-- ghostyTrickster [GT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 15:41 --

GT: you're not fooling me, strider!   
GT: you photoshopped it!   
TG: why would i waste my dope photoshopping skills on a dumb prank like that   
TG: i aint you   
GT: because there is absolutely noooo way you just did that to your hair.   
TG: i so just did that to my hair   
TG: its ironic as hell   
GT: it's pink!!   
TG: ironically   
TG: im the coolest dude in town and not even hot pink hair can change that   
GT: so when are you bleaching it back to normal, asshole?   
TG: not happening dog   
TG: when phase two kicks in and my roots show im dyeing it red like i should have a year ago   
TG: unless you ask nicely then i might dye it blue in your honor   
GT: pfffft. so you finally couldn't take going gray anymore?   
TG: just figured it was time to get proactive   
TG: and a trip to the in laws is the perfect opportunity to go pink   
GT: wow, dude.   
TG: cmon ill blend right in with the mardi gras crowd   
GT: mardi gras was months ago!!   
TG: its always mardi gras in new orleans john dont you watch any fuckin movies   
GT: well at least terezi's parents will know exactly what kind of loser joined their family.   
TG: a loser who doesnt give a single fuck   
GT: yep, that is tooootally how they will interpret your new fashion choices.   
GT: just kidding, they will think that you're weird.   
GT: if you're headed down south anyway, you should make a pit stop to visit us. you know, to show off your hair. also, we miss you probably.   
TG: sorry to disappoint dude but last i checked the plane to nola doesnt quick detours to houston   
TG: you want to see the neon pink in person youll gotta make the trek yourself   
TG: which you should do anyway so welcome to excuseville population you   
GT: bluuuh, this summer is already gonna be soooo busy though.   
TG: with what   
TG: you aint in goddamn school anymore   
GT: dirk's pushing me to try out at some comedy clubs. i have a lot of material to polish here!   
GT: also, rose is visiting in a month. that is pretty exciting, but also more to prep for!   
TG: whoa rose is heading to houston?   
GT: haha, yeah, i guess she finally thinks i am cool enough to make up for setting foot in stupid texas.   
TG: so this is the first time shes meeting bro right   
GT: oh, shit, there's that too. jeez, i hope they get along. you know how dirk gets about socializing like a normal not-awkward person. :p   
GT: maybe it'll go ok. they actually seem sorta similar when i think about it!   
TG: ydont say   
GT: i dunno. they're both wordy and like mind games anyway!   
TG: yeah about that   
TG: um   
TG: have fun   
GT: well duh.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 16:01 --

TG: bitch you better record that   
TT: Don't worry. I have every intention of gifting you the complete video of my next poetry reading.   
TT: It's about damn time you took an interest in your little sister's hobbies.   
TG: dude the trip to houston   
TG: i cant fucking miss the big moment our stoic ass of a dad realizes you share a surname with his ex for a reason   
TG: id drop by to witness it in person but im about to max out this years travel budget   
TG: so at least keep your camera at the ready   
TT: Oh, I'm leaving him in the dark on our true relationship, at least for this trip. I'm just running reconnaissance.   
TT: Maybe I'll strike in a year or two, once we've built up a natural rapport, at which point I'll give you a head's up and an offer of front row tickets to the event.   
TG: we both know hes gonna find out early through a series of improbable wacky shenanigans tho   
TT: If I slip up and reveal my hand too soon, then you're allowed all the "I told you so"s your heart desires. In the meantime, have a little more faith in my ability to protect a secret.   
TG: all my faith goes on the altar of dramatic irony   
TG: why are you even making contact with the puppet king anyway if youre not gonna drop the news on him   
TT: Curiosity.   
TG: yeah thats deadly   
TT: Curiosity is why I reached out to my long lost brother and I don't regret that.   
TT: Do you?   
TG: would a snarky answer be too assholeish right now   
TT: When has that ever stopped you?   
TG: shrug   
TG: i have it on good authority that being an asshole to family you actually like gets messy   
TT: You like me now, hm?   
TG: you dont suck i guess   
TG: dont go spreading that too far or anything though   
TG: ive got a coolkid reputation to maintain here   
TT: Sorry, I'm already climbing a ladder so I can shout from the rooftops that Dave Strider is my lame big brother and he likes me.   
TG: this is what i get for not being an asshole for once   
TT: Yes, you're rewarded with my genuine affection.   
TG: genuine my ass   
TG: that is some hella sarcastic affection lil sis   
TT: By sarcasm standards, it's genuine.   
TT: Admittedly, in the midst of my hyperbole, I forgot to mention that I like you too.   
TG: yeah well   
TG: life would be shittier without you around   
TG: so its pretty cool we met even if you were being a fucking sneak   
TG: engrave that honor onto a trophy and display it on your highest shelf bc thats the best award anyone can dole out   
TT: I'll screenshot this chat so I can treasure it always.   
TT: siblinglove.png   
TG: hey even if you dont do the dramatic reveal   
TG: keep me updated on your houston trip   
TT: If emotions happen, you'll be the first to hear the juicy gossip.   
TG: aright   
TG: and make sure they show you around to the best bbq places like proper hosts   
TG: and the museum of natural science while theyre at it that place is dope   
TT: How about next time we coordinate a visit together and you can show me the best hangs yourself?   
TG: yo gimme a few fuckin months to replenish travel funds first   
TG: otherwise   
TG: im down for that

* * *

"Well, well. Look who came crawling back to The Big Easy," says the condescending prick who opens the door. Except he says it "eathy," because he talks with the heaviest lisp you've ever heard in person.

Terezi just bounces past him into the house and holds her arms out wide. "It's your girl Terezi! I have returned from the far land of university to bring the party back to this sad shack!"

"A party for toddlers, apparently," her brother says, turning his attention back to you, "since you brought your own clown."

Terezi smacks him in the shoulder with the back of her hand. "Sollux, don't be a dick," she says. "Dave is terrified of clowns."

You cough into your fist. "Well this moment is going on my top five worst introductions list. Probably number three or four." You catch the dufflebag Terezi abandoned on the porch and step inside. It's not many times you've been inside an honest-to-god house instead of a condo or apartment or dorm room. There sure are a lot of family photos on the walls. The furniture's old and run down, yet cushier than the cheap replaceable crap you keep stocked in your abode. "You must be the big brother I've heard so much about."

Sollux kicks the door shut. He's paler and his hair is darker, but he shares a jaw shape with Terezi, as well as a fondness for oddly colored glasses. "All bad things, I assume."

"Eh." You shrug off your backpack and drop the luggage to the floor. "Sometimes Terezi has a compliment or two to dole out about the times you rescued her computer."

"He lies. All my gossip is delicious, juicy gossip." She rubs her hands together as if in anticipation of that tasty talk, but any elaboration is cut short as a middle-aged woman steps out from another room and hurries over.

"Terezi!" she says, scooping Terezi into a hug. She's like a walking Irish stereotype, or a member from the dweebie family who hangs around Harry Potter all the time. You can see where Terezi got her red hair and freckles anyway. "Sup, girrrl?"

"Summer break, yo!" Terezi says as she's swung in the air for a couple of rotations. Once her feet return to the floor, she stumbles backwards and fumbles for you, giving your chest a pat once she makes contact. "Mom, this is my Facebook profile pic photographer."

"Love the hair, new son-in-law!" Terezi's mom says with a wink and two fingerguns. "You can call me Latula, 'tula, or even Terezi's rad mom. Though I guess I get to be your rad mom now too!"

You return a fingergun. "You know it, 'tula-mom."

Latula grins, though it's got nothing on Terezi's fangs, and rests her hands on her hips. "Oh, I like this cool dude." She turns away and calls, "Mituna, get out here! It's really Terezi, not some lame religious salesperson!"

Heavy footsteps come crashing down the hall before Terezi's dad darts into view. He moves too fast to get a good look at any facial features he shares with his family, but he's clearly where Terezi got her dark complexion. He stumbles to a stop in front of Terezi, nearly loses his balance, then clamps his arms around her. You can't understand what he actually says to her; it's garbled and rushed, like a speech impediment mixed with some hella impatience. All you can tell is that he makes liberal use of the eff-bomb.

Terezi pats him on the back. "I missed you too, Dad," she says. You can't tell if she understands his garble or just humors him. She steps back and gestures towards you. "Dad, this is Dave. I tell you about him all the time, remember?"

You raise a hand in greeting. "Yo."

He gives you a hard stare, his mouth wrinkled into a frown. "I remember," he says, speaking slow enough that you're fairly sure you made out the words right, even if they still sound like they came from underwater. "Your boyfriend sleeps on the couch."

"Dad, he's my _husband!_ " Terezi says, rolling her head back in exasperation while Sollux snickers behind a hand.

"Couch for the new asshole," Mituna says, jabbing a finger towards the admittedly comfy-looking couch.

You stick your hands in your pockets and step back. "Nice t'meet ya too, Mr. Pyrope."

"That's Mr. Captor to you!" he says with such passion that you narrowly miss a flurry of spittle.

Terezi facepalms. "Dammit, coolkid, the one time you get all polite..." She sighs. "Don't get mad at him, Dad. It's my bad for not warning Dave that Mom and I are the only Pyropes."

"The only what?" you say, glancing around the room for a sign that Terezi's pulling your leg, but the rest of the family has no objection to her weirdass assertion. "The fuck kind of naming scheme is this?"

Latula straightens up, her hands back on her hips like she's got attitude and wants everyone to know it. "We decided all the rad girls in this household would get my name and the boys can have Mituna's name, so we could get both names in there without hyphenizing shit. Lucky us, we got one of each, so it's even!" She gives you a thumbs up. "You can totally steal our sweetass idea when you have kids."

"Kids?" you repeat. Yeah, this is exactly why you never joined Terezi on her annual visits back home before.

"Mooom, I can't get preggers in school," Terezi says, catching her mom's arm and leaning on it. "I've got too much homework!"

Latula holds her chin in her free hand, a sneaky glint in her eye. "I dunno, that sounds radder than taking care of an infant when you're trying to strike out as a new badass lawyer."

Terezi furrows her brow and tilts her head. "I guess my colleagues manage okay with their kids," she says slowly.

Your stomach drops. "T'z," you say. Who cares if you're interrupting if it means you can change the direction of this subject before it swims into the deep end and you all drown?

She ignores you though and keeps up those butterfly strokes. "Do you think we'll be able to afford all the supplies on stipends though?" she asks her mom.

" _T'z._ "

Latula throws an arm over Terezi's shoulders and musses her hair. "Girrrl, you know we'd chip in if money gets tight."

If you're not gonna have a piece of this conversation, maybe you should retreat before they throw the whole pie your way without asking if you even want any. "Y'know what, I promised my dad I'd call him when we arrived safe, so..." You grab the bags and sling them both over your shoulder. "I'll just chill with the luggage while you guys get your reunion on."

Terezi squirms free of her mother, waving an arm at you. "Ah, ah, ah, ah, not so fast!" She scuttles over and you lean down so she can give you a quick peck on the lips. "Okay. My room's at the end of the hall on the left. Don't get lost."

You make a break for it, moving as fast as you dare without giving away that you're in a hurry, and only glance back once you reach her bedroom door. Her dad's got her caught in another bear hug and even Terezi's cranky brother has cracked a smile at the return of the family member who hasn't made it down south since last summer. A trek she made without you because you didn't care about anyone's family -- hers, yours, or otherwise.

It's not hard to pin down her room. It's the one that still has outdated boy band posters stuck to the wall, alongside dragon paintings that look printed off of someone's deviantART, and RPG manuals on the bookshelves. Also, the bed is coated in bright fuckin' red bedsheets.

It's like a time capsule to Terezi's childhood. You doubt your old bedroom was left this untouched for even a month after you left home. Your teenage lair has probably been infected by puppets and robotics equipment. If you ever visited Houston, you'd know.

You drop onto Terezi's bed and tug out your cell phone. Better make your lie look legit in case someone checks in on you. "If anyone asks," you say when you hear the other side pick up, "you totally ordered me to call you. Also, sup, I'm using you as an excuse to hide from the in-laws."

"There's a party going on and you're not the life of it?" Dirk asks.

"Hey, seeing the nuclear family dynamic in action is kinda fuckin' creepy." You raise your head to make sure no one's standing in the doorway to conveniently overhear your complaints, but you keep your voice lowered all the same. "They're playing up the part all the way down to pressuring us for grandkids. It's like I'm in the start of a horror movie, am I right?"

"Actually, you're around the right age and financially stable," he says. "If you've ever wanted kids, now's not a bad time for it."

Your eyes go wide, which is fine since no one's around to see it. What's not fine is the shit that just came out of Dirk's mouth, because that's the last thing he's supposed to say. "Whoa, whoa, cut." You hold your hands together for a timeout, the phone propped against your shoulder. "Let's take this scene from the top. I am so not a dude meant to ever wear the fatherhood mantle and you fucking know it."

"I've actually got the impression that you'd make a pretty chill dad, Dave," Dirk says, sounding as indifferent as ever to contrast with your rising emotions.

You pull your face into a grimace. "You're not coming down with grandkid cravings on me, are you? I hear they've got a shot for that. Better bring this up with your doctor. Tell them your symptoms include an unholy desire to be dubbed 'grandpa' before the age of forty."

He's silent for a moment. "I hereby retract all encouragement of the grandkids plan."

You snort and roll off the bed. Yeah, now he gets it. Might as well twist the knife just to be sure though. "I dunno, dude, I'm rethinking things now that I see the hilarity potential. I could sire a whole brood and train them all to call you different names."

"That would be beyond uncool."

"Good thing I don't have to be cool anymore," you say chipperly, pacing across the room and back. Damn, it feels good to have the upperhand for once. "The first one can call you Grandpa while the next one goes with Gramps. After that there's Poppop and Pappy and Gampy..."

"What do I have to bribe you with to escape this snake pit I never should have waded into?" he says and you desperately wish you had your phone free to text John to please fucking photograph whatever face Dirk is making right now.

You smirk. "I guess I could use a free babysitter at this rate, if you want to move closer."

"You mean John, right? 'Cos... me with kids..." His voice takes on a strange, almost strained quality. Before it was a mask of discomfort, but now it's... actual discomfort. "That's maybe not..."

He doesn't have to finish the sentence when the rest of the words hang in the air. That's maybe not a smart idea.

You swallow. "D-dude, obviously I meant John in this totally hypothetical scenario that ain't even happening!" you say, trying to sound casual, as if your stomach didn't twist at the thought of some non-existent child you're obligated to adore going through the same insane upbringing you had. Serves you right for milking this moment 'til it went sour. "I'm not gonna leave you alone to care for a twerp." Just because you trust him one adult to another doesn't mean he's suddenly babysitter material.

"Good plan," he says quietly and all too aware of why you're backpedaling.

He could, y'know, try _not_ being shit with kids. That's a thing, right? Then again, you're the one who's squirreled away to hide from your in-laws rather than risk confrontation, so what do you know about successfully overcoming your flaws on a consistent basis? The important thing is that he's self-aware enough to agree that he's only gonna see his grandkids while well-supervised, just in case.

Not that these grandkids are anything beyond hypothetical in the first place, god damn it.

You clear your throat. "So, uh... Hey, I finished Jurassic Park on the plane."

"Oh yeah?" he says, sounding as relieved to change the subject as you are.

"Yeah. The movie's better."

"Bullshit it is."

You crack up a little at how fast he responded, like he's actually capable of being offended. "C'mon, dude, the book gets preachy as fuck."

"The movie thinks all computer functions are executed with a game of Tron."

"At least that's fun to watch, man. Past you even mocked all the pretentious diatribes in the margins, so don't even deny it was annoying."

"Past me was a pretentious little shit himself and would have mocked the movie's laughable science too if VHS tapes had margins to write in," he says with a hint of actual amusement.

You glance to the door as you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. Terezi's poked her head in and she waves to you. "Sounds legit," you say into the phone, beckoning her over. "Terezi found me so I better hang up before the jig is up and my cowardice is discovered, but we'll duke it out over book versus movie later, yeah?"

"You're on. See you on Pesterchum, kid."

"Later." You pocket the phone and wrap both arms around Terezi's hips. "Hey, babe. I'm in your bedroom for the first time."

She grins. "Hot." She licks the tip of your nose, probably because she thinks it's funny that you still screw up your face afterwards. "Sollux wants to take us out for drinks. Let's go find a bar and send Karkat drunk selfies!"

You catch her chin with a finger and tilt it up for easier access for a quick kiss. "You get trashed, I get tipsy, we both take selfies?"

She slides out of your grip and wraps her arm behind your back, leaning against you. "You're gonna fit into the Pyrope-Captor household just fine, coolkid."

* * *

"Honey, I'm home." You drop your bags on the floor and kick the door shut because you are so done with polite etiquette after a week in someone else's house.

"Well, the apartment hasn't been flooded, burned to the ground, or ransacked by cockroaches," Karkat calls from the couch, his nose buried in a book that's got a half-naked beefcake on the cover, "so go ahead and smack a gold sticker to my chest declaring that I've passed the low, low bar of basic competence in caring for my new dwelling."

"I totally believed in you, dude." You rest your arms on the back of the couch and swipe a finger down your cheek. "Your success brings a fuckin' tear to my eye."

Karkat shoots you an unimpressed stare, but his attention quickly wanders as he furrows his brow. "Where the hell's Terezi?"

"She's staying a few extra days to catch up with crawfish and her family." You hop over the back of the couch and land next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "She doesn't get down there often, I owe you a week with just the two of us, so we figured it's a win-win if she flies in next Tuesday instead of today."

"I'm 'owed' a week, huh?" he says, returning his gaze on his book rather than humoring you with the kiss you're egging him for as you lean closer. "I'm not taking you to meet my self-righteous dick of a sperm donor, even if I knew where he was, which I don't, because I don't keep talking garbage in my address book."

You roll your eyes and remove your arm. "No, dude, not the in-law visit. I mean when we took off for Vegas without you. It's only fair that I give you a one-on-one vacation after that dumb move." You slip to the floor, struggling to find a comfortable angle to prop up one knee while keeping the other on the hard ground.

That gets Karkat to lower his book in a hurry, his eyes going wide and his face heating up. "Dave, wh-what the fuck are you doing?"

You tug out a ring box and hold it out to him. You know just the stereotypical timing to use for this cheesy shit. "Karkat Vantas..." You pop it open to reveal the bright red ring you bought for eight bucks off Amazon. "Happy Wednesday."

He slams his book against the couch cushions. "I will shove that ring up your goddamn nose, you boiling pot of rat intestines!"

You crack up, holding a hand over your mouth to mute the sound until you can get it under control. "Hey, we can't legally tie the knot three ways, but I can at least give you a matching ring and an unofficial honeymoon." You tug the ring out and offer it to him until he begrudgingly holds his hand out to you so you can do the honors of slipping it on his finger. You twine your fingers with his and climb up to sit next to him again. "How do you feel about driving up to Niagara Falls? If we leave tomorrow, we'll have the whole weekend up there. We can stay at some dinky bed and breakfast, watch the sunrise together, stuff our faces with pancakes, and pass out for the day."

"That... actually sounds romantic," he mumbles, his gaze stuck on the red ring on his finger.

"Yeah, I asked Rose for advice on a hella destination."

He snorts and raises his eyes to meet yours. "I should have fucking known." He leans in to give you a proper greeting kiss, a hint of tongue and all. "I'll share my gold sticker for basic trying with you."

* * *

There's a box from Dirk sitting on your porch when you get home. There's no reason for it -- it's not Christmas or anyone's birthday -- but that's definitely his name on the return address. You must be in for some ironic bullshit here.

While Karkat's busy unpacking and yelling at you to remember to pick up Terezi from the airport in two hours, you cut through the tape with your keys. It's not like you've got any theories of what horrors lie within, but you're definitely not expecting to dig out two packages of Oreos and an old book with yellowed pages called Strong Poison -- you'd raise your eyebrows at that ominous title if it didn't include "A Lord Peter Wimsey Novel" in smaller font at the bottom.

You flip through the book. Its margins are coated in notes from Dirk's old handwriting again, but more importantly a sheet of fresh paper tumbles from the pages. At least Dirk did you the favor of including a letter so you're not totally in the dark on what kind of weirdass irony he's playing at today.

"Yo," it begins in the polished handwriting you're used to seeing. "John's dad is always sending us care packages stuffed with baked goods and he seems to know what's up in the fathering department. Baking didn't go so hot. Hence the Oreos. The book's another not-shit novel from my stash; we talked about blond Sherlock Holmes before, so I figured I should follow up on that and introduce you to Dorothy Sayers's mysteries formally. Terezi'd probably get a kick out of it if you want to read it with her. Call me when you're free sometime."

It's just signed as "Dirk," but _some_ asshole went over it with a blue marker and left only the D intact, so instead it reads " Love, DAD" with the thin black "irk" buried beneath the capital blue letters.

Dirk's scrawled a quick PS beneath it that says, "I'm leaving John's vandalism as-is. It's fucking cheesy, but that's probably what it should have said in the first place."

You wipe the grin off your face before raising your camera and shooting him a selfie with your new loot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this story did not want to cooperate with me. My intention was to emulate The Ace Thing's slightly episodic formula, but for better or worse, all these emotionally sensitive plotlines demanded more of an ongoing narrative than the first story did. Then Karkat and Rose were only supposed to get cameos, so that threw my original outline for a loop when they insisted on having bigger roles, haha.
> 
> I mighta kinda sorta left Rose holding a sequel hook because it's long been my plan to write a third installment in this series that would bring Rose and Jade into the spotlight. Unfortunately, I can't promise that I'll get around to writing that final story. You might have noticed that this fic took a looot longer to complete than, say, The Ace Thing or even freaking Constants & Variables did. That's mostly because the retcon arc left me and my fannish friends rather bitter about the whole comic (something that my followers on Tumblr are probably weeell aware of). Not only has my personal interest in writing Homestuck fic waned, but the friends I used to brainstorm with have lost interest too; both the internal and external passion that drove me to writewritewrite about these delightful characters has petered out.
> 
> I feel bad that I never got to give Jade her dues in this AU, though, so I'll prod at the third story now and then to see if I can build up the motivation to give it proper attention. If I can't, I can at least assure you that it would have had a happy ending after lots of awkward shenanigans, because that's just how my stories roll. If I can, hopefully I'll see y'all later.
> 
> Either way, thanks so much for reading. <3 Now I gotta go give my other WIP some love!


End file.
